Twisted Fate
by The Erudite
Summary: Slightly altered sequence of events leading up to and well after the ending where Chrom strikes the final blow. Some RobinXTharja, but mainly follows Morgan's story as she attempts to prevent another terrible fate befalling the world. Rated M for blood, violence, and some suggestive themes. Mostly just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Twisted Fate

Chapter One

It was over at last.

Falchion had struck true, and, at last the Fell Dragon, Grima had been defeated. The monstrosity screamed and railed as it faded into slumber for another thousand years. The power it released as it crashed knocked most of the wearied Shepherds unconscious. Their captain, however, now stood before them all, each slowly picking his or her head to the sound of their commander's voice. Felicitation and celebration broke out as Grima's defeat was announced. A particular voice begged to differ in Chrom's ear, however, the voice of his chief tactician, Robin, expressing some profound regret at not having destroyed the Fell Dragon altogether. His fanatically obsessed wife, Tharja, reassured him, however, stating with a yet unheard of tone of utter sincerity, "Forget saving the world-I just want you. Gods have mercy on anyone who interferes!" her eyes shimmering brilliantly with tears. Robin's face still hung in self-disapproval, but a smile warmed along it as he turned to face her, embracing her gently. She blushed a bit as he laid a kiss on her forehead, eliciting a slightly malicious giggle, followed by, "Not now!"

Yes, the war against the Grimleal and their accursed deity was, at last, ended, and every man and woman of the Shepherd's garrison returned to his or her own private pursuits:

Chrom finally took up the mantle of Exalt of Ylisse. He would have big shoes to fill, following in his sister's footsteps, but it was a challenge he was prepared to take on, prompting a new era of prosperity for the whole of Ylisse, as they carved the path to a brighter future.

Khans Flavia and Basilio returned to Regna Ferox, taking care to keep up their spartan traditions, but also reconciling their warrior culture with a love for life which would build the strength and fervor of Regna Ferox's people for decades to come.

Say'ri returned to head up the disorganized rebels in rebuilding Chon'sin. Later joined by the likes of Virion and, more surprisingly, the great Walhart, Say'ri was able to unite the entire continent of Valm under the banner of peace and striving for the common good.

And what of the shambles which remained of the Grimleal theocracy of Plegia? The Mad King Gangrel returned to his home, only to face militant opposition from his own people, still embittered by the circumstances he had created which (for all they knew) had killed Exalt Emmeryn. The last recognized king of Plegia had been Validar, killed by his own son in the fight to stop Grima, but now that same son was being considered for the crown. Tharja urged and begged that her husband return to his forgotten homeland, so as not to miss the opportunity. After a few days' mental deliberation, Robin have into his wife's pleas and took the throne of Plegia to a mixed response. Some Plegians despised Robin for sealing their deity, others feared he would use the Fell Dragon's power against them, though the trend generally continued toward approval of and contentment with the new sovereign as his rule proceeded benevolently.

Many years came and went, and Tharja bore Robin two daughters, arousing fear among Plegian proponents of primogeniture. Nonetheless, Robin's friendship with Chrom allowed their nations to enjoy a great warming of formerly icy relations. Chrom had carried a number of peaceful expeditions into Plegia for the purpose of discussing mutually beneficial futures for both nations after his compatriot took up the throne. At first glance, the one he made that day was no different, but the presence of his daughter from a ruined future, Lucina, altered the context greatly. As the two stood at the entrance to the Great Hall of Plegia Castle, (where the two parties typically met to discuss matters of policy) Lucina cautioned her father, face paled with fear, "Father, I wish to see you safe above all else, and I wish for Grima to no longer have a bearing on our world."

"Lucina-" her father began. Chrom had aged well, the only significant changes to his features being that his sapphire hair now occasionally touched his shoulders, his chin was broadened, and his eyes were set deeper, all the makings of a long-standing king.

His daughter of the future stopped him, "As long as the Mark of Grima is present, he remains a vessel for the Fell Dragon and, thus, a danger to us all, father."

Chrom turned to face his daughter, holding up a hand which commanded silence, "And he is a personal friend of mine whom , it has been shown, is capable of resisting Grima's power and influence."

"But do you know that that will always be the case, father? What if your friendship sours somehow and he suddenly decides to embrace Grima's power again?" Lucina begged of her father.

"Enough," Chrom declared, raising his hand again and, this time, clenching it into a fist, "This is no longer your future, Lucina. I will not murder a trusted friend on the grounds of your suspicions." He spat the last word like some vile substance from his mouth.

"Aw, come on, once more, father!" Morgan begged, her long, tousled, raven-black hair bouncing with her excitement.

"Morgan I must've read you that book a hundred times," Robin sighed with mock incredulity.

"I know, but you're always so busy, I just want to hear your voice a little while longer," Morgan glanced aside, wholly impressing the guilt on her father.

"I would, but I've a meeting, you know that," Robin patted his daughter's head softly. "Maybe you could have your mother read it to you."

"But she doesn't read it with that stoic voice like you do!" Morgan complained, eyes wide with admiration.

Robin left the room and began walking the castle hallways, his daughter's light footfalls traipsing behind him at twice the speed.

"C... Cor ceciderunt draco!" Noire repeated as a violet flame sparked along the castle wall, "Agh, oh no!"

"Relax," her mother calmed, "it won't burn anything you don't target. That's what's so powerful about our magic."

"Oh... Okay," Noire sighed nervously as the flame fizzled away.

"I'm actually rather impressed, Noire. For amateurs, the process usually takes longer. Though, you are my and your father's daughter. It's no surprise your magical skill is well developed," Tharja explained with a prideful smirk.

"Thank you, mother," Noire gave her mother a weary smile.

Tharja reciprocated the smile for a second, the realized what she was doing and made her face like stone again, "Don't expect any mushy speeches of admiration from me. Keep goin'."

Her husband entered the room, "I'll be meeting with Chrom now, honey."

Noire giggled a little to herself at the use of the nickname. She reveled in the love it was clear her parents shared. Tharja blushed a little and stood to wrap her arm around her husband's, "Maybe cut it with the cutesy stuff in front of the kids, they get the wrong idea of who their mother is," she whispered, but intentionally gave enough volume for Noire to hear.

"Aw, they know that behind all the doom and gloom, you're just a fawning sweetheart," he prodded at her.

"A fawning sweetheart loaded with enough dark magic to curse your loins right off," she gave a maniacal smile from which Robin could not divine if she was being serious.

"You are absolutely insane," Robin gave an incredulous nod, "and that's why I love you." Tharja laughed wickedly as the two strode down the hall. Noire had already long since stuck her nose into one of her mother's tomes.

"Chrom! It's good to see you again," Robin extended good-naturedly.

"You as well," Chrom reciprocated. Tharja and Lucina traded icy glares.

"Where is Olivia?" Robin asked.

"At home taking care of... her," Chrom gestured toward Lucina.

"Robin, may I speak to you in private a moment?" Tharja whispered in his back.

Robin held up a finger to indicate that he needed a moment and turned to his wife, "Something wrong, Tharja?"

"I can see absolute contempt in her eyes," she pointed to Lucina, "and believe me, I know contempt when I see it."

"Yes, Lucina's never been my biggest fan, what of it?" Robin placed a reassuring hand on his wife's shoulder.

She turned to gaze deeply and earnestly in his eyes, "Don't go in there with him."

Robin looked around, then returned to his wife, "Why? Where is this coming from, Tharja?"

"Please, just this once, heed my warning," she tugged at his sleeve. Robin returned a curious glare, his wife had never pleaded to him for anything.

"Tharja, honey, be reasonable. Chrom is my trusted friend. He'll keep Lucina in check, don't worry. Just go back and play with Noire some more. I think Morgan's in her room reading that history of the Hero-King you gave me years ago, you might check on her, too," Robin began to rub his wife's shoulder gently.

"No," she stared angrily, "at least let me wait at the door.

"Fine, fine," Robin continued, happy to have the matter resolved. "Henry!" he called, summoning up the lavender-haired dark mage.

"Hey! Whacha need?" he grinned gleefully, as he always did.

"Watch the kids while we're meeting, Tharja is worried about me," he glanced up, wondering if there was anything else, "Oh, and stay away from the blood talk this time, yes? You might make Noire faint again... Or worse."

"Aw, alright. Ooh! That reminds me of a good one, how did it go again? A Plegian falls on his face, and there's a Valmese, a Ylissean, and a Feroxi around to help him up..." he trailed off down the hallway, punctuating his exit with a trademark "Nya, ha, ha!"

"Shall we, then, Chrom?" Robin opened the door and gestured inward.

Lucina gave her father an irritable look as they entered the room as he and Robin sat and began to discuss policy as normal.

"I'm afraid I've one final question for you, Robin," Chrom announced as the Plegian king stood.

"Of course, out with it," Robin smiled back.

"Lucina is... Rather concerned about the presence of Grima and the fact that you bear his Mark," Chrom began, his voice uncertain, "and we were wondering if you would mind giving Sable to us for safe keeping."

"I bear you no ill will, Chrom, I assure you. The Fell Dragon is a threat no more. For the next thousand years, at least," Robin replied, his smile fading.

"Precisely, so you would not mind parting with Sable for now, given its power to keep us all safe?" Chrom pressed.

"I'm sorry, Chrom," Robin became deathly serious, "but Sable is an important balancing factor for the world at large, just like the other gemstones. Ylisse is the only nation which possesses more than one piece of the puzzle; if anything, you should be making a gift of the Emblem, Falchion, or Argent to me. If, that is, balance is your true goal."

Chrom gave his longtime friend and advisor a pained look, then raised Falchion, "Just give Sable to Ylisse, Robin, and this all goes away."

"Chrom, what are you doing? I am not the Fell Dragon; I have not harmed you," Robin exclaimed.

"Father, you must do this!" Lucina encouraged exasperatedly.

"Lucina, I- ...Just wait, give him a chance to think it over..."

Lucina ignored her father, she drew her Falchion and pointed it at Robin, grasping his neck.

"I will give you one more chance, as my friend, Robin, give Sable to Ylisse and my trust will be satisfied, no harm will come to anyone," Chrom attempted to calm the room.

Robin's stare bore directly into Chrom's face, searing it with an unbearable heat, "I offer no resistance, I have never harmed Ylisse, but I will not be shaken down to give up my homeland's only leverage out of fear for deeds I have not committed. Surely you can be reasonable, Chrom?"

Chrom 's face sank. As he turned to his daughter, she nodded her head in affirmation. Chrom swallowed hard and plunged Falchion into Robin's chest, whereupon the Plegian king started in surprise.

"I guess I... have my answer..." he managed, choking on spurts of his own blood. He slid down and left a ruby streak along the room's wall. Chrom withdrew the blade and grimaced to see it slick with the same ruby hue. His eyes and lips quivered, "I don't know that I can do this, Lucina."

"We must, father, for the good of the Halidom," she reaffirmed.

"Right."

Opening the door, the two were confronted with Tharja, who realized what had happened immediately, but was still too late. Lucina thrust Falchion into her stomach, and she, too, fell, bleeding profusely. "Gods damn you both..." she cried, "and all of Ylisse!" Her eyes fell and rested on her husband's corpse. For the first time in her life, Tharja's eyes welled up with tears. There she would remain, dead, glistening eyes transfixed on the man she'd loved all her life.

"Now, we need to find Noire and Morgan," Lucina breathed.

"What?! The children?! That wasn't a part of the plan, Lucina!" Chrom railed.

"We must be sure that Grima will never rise again!" Lucina screamed in retaliation, "And if it means I must kill these girls and do it without my father's help to protect the future, then, gods damn it all, I shall do it!" She flew off down the hallway. Chrom sighed bitterly and walked down a different hallway.

"...and the Feroxi rolls up his sleeve, picks the fly out and says, 'Alright, now spit it out!' Nya ha ha ha!" Came the voice from the room. A girl's laughter accompanied it. Lucina entered and quickly jammed Falchion down the dark mage's neck, as he crouched by the door. No time for japes today, she thought. Now the lanky, chestnut-haired girl before her shrieked and shriveled in fear, her face pale as a sheet. Lucina glanced at the girl's bare right shoulder and found the Mark she was looking for. The fact confirmed, she plunged Falchion into the quivering girl's body without another word, then removed it and set off elsewhere into the castle.

Morgan plodded over to the room where her father's meetings typically took place upon hearing the commotion. It was around the time when these things typically ended anyway. As she sidled forward, however, she noticed... No, it couldn't be... Morgan found her mother, dead upon the floor. She cried aloud for her mother but received no response. Please, she thought, please just let... Her worst fears were confirmed as she found her father in a bloody heap not far from her mother. Morgan weeped silently, only for that she was too distraught to make a sound. She clutched the lifeless body like driftwood on an open sea, tears flowing in a steady stream, washing some of the black bloody stains on the fabric of the cloak. Chrom appeared again in the doorway, faced again with the results of his and his daughter's deeds, he nearly vomited, but regained composure upon seeing the girl, eyes bloodshot, collapsed over her father. She was suddenly alerted and turned to face him, "You! You did this! Ylissean bastard! I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!" she exploded, slamming Chrom with a flurry of aimless punches which glanced off his armor.

"Look," Chrom looked askance, unable to be confronted with the result of his choice, "If you want to live, you have to run, now!"

"Wha-? No, I- my father... You killed him! I have to- you-..." she babbled incoherently.

"I know. And I'm sorry," Lucina's footfalls could be heard drawing hastily near. Chrom stared into the child's face with a pained expression, "Please... go."

Suddenly more aware of her situation, Morgan picked herself up, covered her face with the hood of her robes, and scurried toward the castle door.

Lucina caught up with her father exiting the castle several minutes later, "Did you find the other one, Morgan?"

"Yes," Chrom stared at the ground, "she, too, is felled."

Lucina sighed deeply and put an arm on her father's shoulder, "I take no joy in it either, father, but it had to be done. We should make haste to Ylisstol."

Chrom nodded, still despondent. Images of killing Robin still flooded his mind. And the girl, what of little Morgan? She would probably die on her own anyway. Maybe a quick death would have been more merciful. Chrom plodded alongside his daughter from a ruined future and pondered the questions in deathly silence all the way to his home.

Thoughts, meanwhile, were a luxury for Morgan, who never spent more than a few minutes resting as she tore away from Plegia Castle in fear. For days on end, she subsisted on whatever berries she could pluck or small game she could manage to trap, all the while still rushing dazedly everywhere she went. No hiding, no rest, just running. Run. Run. The word repeated itself endlessly in her head, which otherwise spun as she rushed away, all things confusion and chaos, perpetual delirium, until her body finally refused to cooperate, and all became black. Soon after, or was it much later? Morgan's mind couldn't work it out. Nonetheless, she was awoken to the presence of a golden-blonde-haired woman and a bald, imposing man who spoke in unfamiliar accents. "You Plegian?" the bald one grunted.

"Gods sakes, Basilio, she's frightened out of her wits! How about a 'Hello, how are you feeling?' first?" the woman barked.

"Sorry, little lady," Basilio corrected himself, "Are ya alright? Need anything?" Morgan shook her head carefully.

"Easy, dear. You're among friends. You are Robin's little girl, aren't you?" the woman cooed. Morgan nodded slowly. "Then let me be the first to welcome you to Regna Ferox. I am Khan Flavia, and this," she smirked, "impertinent oaf is Khan Basilio."

"We're friends of your father," Basilio remarked simply.

"We'll be taking care of you after... What happened," Flavia avoided Morgan's eyes.

"I know my mother and father are dead," Morgan sniffed, nearly choking, "I could use something to eat, and then I'll be on my way home."

Flavia and Basilio exchanged concerned looks. "Your home is under siege, hon. Plegia and Ylisse are at war," Flavia explained.


	2. Chapter 2

Twisted Fate

Chapter Two

Morgan sat upright and ran her fingers through her hair. "How long?" her voice pierced the icy silence in the room.

Khan Flavia returned a perplexed look, "'How long' what?"

"Me. The war," Morgan spat exasperatedly, unable to make up her mind. "First, how long have I been out?"

"About a week," the Khan replied, sympathetically staring into the young girl's eyes, "we had to wake you a few times to feed you, but I suppose you were too out of it to remember."

"And the war?" came the nonplussed response.

"About as long," Basilio declared, also stepping into the girl's view.

Morgan's eyes lifted to the ceiling, "Gods..." She quivered a bit and her eyes shone with moisture, "First, my parents, now my people..."

The khans exchanged worried looks again. Flavia spoke up, "But we're here to take care of you now, okay, hon? Everything will be fine."

"Noire," Morgan was undaunted, "What of Noire? Is she fighting, too?" The khans glanced at each other again, then shook their heads miserably. Morgan looked down, "What? Why have you not... Oh please... Please, gods save me, no..." Morgan clutched her head with both hands, its weight suddenly too great to bear. Moisture streamed down her snow-pale cheeks afresh. "Gods... I'm alone. How did this happen?" she said with a blank stare.

Flavia put an arm around her shoulder, "Hey, hey, hey, honey. I know this is tough for you, but if there's one thing you aren't, it's alone."

Morgan snapped, whipping the arm away, "Don't you call me 'honey!'" she shrieked, eyes welling again as an image of her smiling father conjured up in her mind.

Flavia was taken aback a moment, but nodded comprehensively afterward, "Let's give her some space, Basilio." The bald khan nodded and followed her up the stairs. Morgan still sat, enshrined by the pale daylight exuding from the room's one window. She looked outside to find a small pink-haired girl dancing giddily about a man who carried on, smiling down at her warmly. Morgan tore her eyes away, but found the same scene no matter where she looked. It was as if the entire world were enjoying a great happiness in which she could no longer partake. She lay back down in hopes that sleep would silence the agonizing heaving and knotting in her stomach.

The war had a number of sides. Some Ylisseans knew the truth of the matter and defected to Plegia in disgust at their ruler's actions, others remained in their homes, but held out Plegian banners and would resupply Plegian invasionary forces. Still others were either too ignorant or patriotic to see the truth and took up arms against the Plegians immediately. Plegia found the worse end of the deal. While their cause was more singular, and vastly more accepted, the loss of any semblance of official leadership gave the infuriated Plegians no constructive way to focus their anger. Most of the country was swept with anarchy, though a small cadre of Robin's most trusted generals attempted to assembled and collectivize the country's military. Perhaps it should be said that they were some of Robin's more trusted generals, as they were below Tharja and Henry on that list.

Erstwhile, Morgan came to grips with her situation and began to exit Khan Flavia's residence to explore the streets of Regna Ferox. Through local gossip, she happened upon a plan, and called both khans to discuss aiding her.

"The Rite of Awakening," Morgan explained succinctly, holding up an artist's rendering of the Emblem.

"What?" the khans responded simultaneously.

"The princess from House Ylisse. I am told she helped warn Chrom and my father of Grima's coming by using the Divine Dragon, Naga's, power to return to the past, to alter her future," Morgan elaborated.

"Aye, that's so," Basilio's tone became gruff, "but the gemstones are more trouble to get ahold of than I think you realize, lass. And, in any case, only kin of the lords of Ylisse can survive Naga's flame and perform the rite. Sorry, little lady, but I don't know that it's worth ya risking yer own life for yer father's."

"This isn't just about my father anymore," Morgan's eyes flared in retaliation at the bald khan, "it's to prevent all of this death from happening. I've seen the casualty reports."

Flavia shot Basilio a cutting look. "Lass-" Basilio began.

"Don't 'lass' me! I am the last of my people's royal family," the khans could swear her eyes glowed with intensity, "I will find a way. I must succeed. If not for me, then for my people."

Again, the khans looked at one another, though in this instance, for quite some time. A soldier's entrance interrupted their unspoken discussion, "Beg your pardon, milord and lady."

"What is it?" Flavia barked, a touch of irritation evident.

"The Ylissean princess has declared war upon us, citing that we have harbored a fugitive as the cause. She marches toward us as we speak, and will likely be upon the border by sunrise tomorrow," the soldier announced quite officially.

"What? Gods damn that girl, has she gone mad?" Flavia led the soldier out of the room and up a flight of stairs.

Basilio paused to stare at the girl another moment before sighing in distaste and saying: "Your ship for Chon'sin leaves in the morning. Seek a woman named Say'ri and a man named Walhart. They'll see to it ya get what ya need. Now, take off yer robes."

Morgan stared back at the bald khan and blushed, "Uh, couldn't you leave the room first?"

Basilio rolled his eyes, "Just the robe itself, blast it! I've no care to see yer knickers, you just can't be wearin' a Plegian robe everywhere ya go if you want to be incognito."

"Oh, uh, right," Morgan stuttered as she slid her shoulders out of the slightly oversized garment. It had been a present from her father on her tenth birthday, and was nearly as big as a blanket for her then.

"Sorry, sweetie. They only make 'em in one size," he had chuckled, patting his own cloak. Her fingers grasped the soft fabric tightly as she presented it to Basilio.

Noticing her hesitation, Basilio smiled warmly, "Don't worry. We'll keep 'er right in this box, nice and safe. Don't go losin' it, now! Oh, and one more thing..." Basilio withdrew a shimmering, ruby-red orb from a pouch at his hip. "This is Gules, one of the five gemstones needed to perform the rite. Take good care of it, eh, little lady?"

Morgan nodded gratefully, placing the folded robe in the box and the glittering gem atop it.

The morning arrived quickly, and Morgan stepped aboard the unmarked vessel feeling rather naked in nothing but her plain clothes. A striped, tan, silk shirt and white pants were certainly very unimpressive, Morgan lamented. Nonetheless, her chest stirred as the vessel finally began to depart the bustling port and drift into the sea, shimmering in the glorious sunlight. Only then did Morgan realize that she had never been sailing before. She took a great whiff of the salty air and listened as the gulls cried, closing her eyes and surmising that it was exactly as the books of seafaring adventurers she had read described it, but even more beautiful, now that it lay before her eyes. Unfortunately, that beauty would be Morgan's only companion aboard the craft. The ship was outfitted with a skeleton crew to minimize suspicion, and those who were aboard constantly wore scowls of resentment, probably at the fact that they were transporting a girl they had never met across the ocean instead of fighting on the front lines for their homeland. Morgan sympathized, feeling it a little strange herself that she was, in fact, drifting further from home.

After several days with nothing to do but stare at the azure glow beneath her and feel the heat of the sun scratching at her skin, Morgan was relieved to disembark at Valm Harbor, though a little dismayed to find it not the bright, colorful seaside town punctuated with the noise of shouting vendors that she had left, but rather a simple, industrious community working ritualistically to put things back together. Morgan admired the officials, shouting and calling to attention line after line of bare-backed, muscled men all across the harbor. Gods, she thought, if father saw me looking like that... She laughed a little in spite of the pain she still felt upon remembering her father, then began to set off through the harbor.

No sooner had she passed the last fish vendor's stand (which, she had found, was laden with strangely cut raw segments of fish nestled in beds of rice and wrapped with some unknown binding material, which she assumed was also edible. A strange place, this "Chon'sin") than she found a woman, elegant and refined, wearing curious pleated armor striding opposite her.

"Hail, milady," the woman called out.

"Are you Say'ri?" Morgan looked to her.

"Aye, miss, I am she," came the reply. She now stopped before Morgan and gave a wise smile.

Morgan was rather stunned at the way the woman seemed to radiate confidence. "Well met, then," she managed, "I am Morgan."

"Aye, I knew it to be so. I could tell, you share the Plegian woman's hair," she smiled genially, then, "This makes you the daughter of Robin, then, yes?"

"Indeed," Morgan fought off the urge to salute.

"Glad to be of assistance, then. Your father was a wonderful man. You have my most profound condolences for his loss."

"Thank you, ma'am. Now, forgive my haste, but, about Azure and Vert..."

"Ah, yes, the gemstones. Only Vert rests in my possession. By treaty, Azure belongs to Walhart."

"I see. And may I have the gemstone, then?"

"Fie, it is not so easy, my child," Morgan scoffed, "my child?" She couldn't have been more than thirty-five, herself. Not fit to be calling teenage girls "my child," that was for sure. "'Twould be a hasty and dangerous move to so clearly assist enemies of Ylisse, the results of which may be seen in the current state of affairs in Regna Ferox," she gazed across the open sea.

"I don't suppose you might simply consider it a favor to my father?" Morgan half-joked.

"Would that I could afford to do as much, young lady, though I have the utmost admiration for him."

"Then what would you have me do?" Morgan grew a bit impatient.

"Speak you to Lord Walhart. If you can convince him, you will have my trust as well."

"And where might I find him, good lady?"

"He and his followers occupy a castle to the northeast, with any luck, there he awaits you."

"Thank you, Say'ri. I will make haste and return before long," Morgan bowed before walking off.

"I will be here at the harbor most of my time. I await your return, daughter of Robin."

"I am called Morgan, milady," Morgan smiled back, then continued on.

Valm Castle was a bit more imposing than Plegia Castle, Morgan surmised. Perhaps it was because she had lived her whole life in the latter, but the former seemed, to her, to have an obstinate demand for respect presiding over its gates. Undaunted, Morgan proceeded and found a man dressed head to heel in boisterous and powerful red armor.

He gazed down at her, "And who are you?"

"Morgan of Plegia, milord," she made her voice as confident as possible, "may I assume you to be Lord Walhart?"

"Indeed, you may," he moved nothing but his lips, "and why have you come here?"

"I seek the gemstone Azure."

"And you expect that I will give it to you?"

"I had hoped that you may consider it a favor to my father, Robin."

At last, he stirred a bit, glaring at Morgan intensely, evaluating her, "You are the child of Robin?"

"One, milord. I've... Er, that is, I had a sister, but she was killed, along with my father."

"And so you alone escaped that travesty?"

"Quite right."

"I'm afraid I am not inclined to believe you," he sighed.

"Only tell me what I must do to change that, milord."

"Defeat me," he replied curtly.

"Defeat you, milord?" Morgan repeated.

"Yes. If you share your father's skill, you should be able to best me in combat," he concluded airily.

"Then it shall be as you command," Morgan's voice intensified as she pulled one of her father's tomes from a leather sack at her waist. The sky-blue cover was worn, and the tome itself looked a mess, but Robin had told Morgan to use it whenever there could be no other solution. Walhart stood from his throne and shouted mightily as he dashed toward the girl, raising a wicked axe above him with both hands. "Superbia malo!" the words echoed as she shouted. A wondrous burst of colorful light detonated before her and sent the red-clad former conqueror reeling to his knees. She sauntered over to him and spoke with renewed strength, "And now what do you think?"

"Your strength is worthy of my committal, fair lady. I, and all of Valm recognize your strength. If you would have Azure," he offered the sparkling blue orb to her, "take it and be on with your mission."

"Many thanks, Lord Walhart," Morgan curtseyed before exiting the castle doors, two gemstones in hand. Thank the gods for father's tomes, she thought, her arms still reeling from the force of her own attack.

"You have Azure," Say'ri remarked, clearly surprised. "Truly, you share your father's determination.

"Yes, and now , if you wouldn't mind, I believe we had an agreement."

"Of course. Vert is yours, but you will deny receiving aid from Chon'sin for now, yes? Perhaps tell them that you pilfered the stones," Say'ri uneasily dropped the sparkling emerald ball into Morgan's palm.

"Naturally, Chon'sin will incur no liability for my actions, you have my promise."

"Good," Say'ri breathed.

"Say'ri?"

"Aye?"

"What about my father did you find so impressive?"

"I heard this from a wise man once, young lady, and I will use it to explain: 'You can pay a man to swing a blade at a foe. You can pay him to dash along a battlefield and capture a hill. But you cannot pay him to believe.' Your father possessed the capacity to make others believe, even if it was only in the sheerness of his own conviction. It is an ability you seem to share, Morgan.

Morgan smiled over the ocean, "Thank you Say'ri."

"And where will you go now?"

"Home."


	3. Chapter 3

Twisted Fate

Chapter 3

Another day at sea hung dryly in the air. The sun was hot and unrelenting, the sea provided no aid and offered no breeze. The weather's impact did not reach Morgan, however, whose thoughts were collected on the days of her youth, carefully sidestepping withdrawing emotions from some of her more recent memories. She looked back upon herself in the context of her family, and what she saw she found childish. Why did she waste time frolicking about as such, skipping and playing while ignoring her father's stresses and her mother's worries? Because she was a little girl, she had rationalized. Was. But what did that make her now? Morgan found herself at the behest of an entire nation, and, perhaps, if her plan succeeded, her entire world, no easy mantle for a girl of her years, or any age, to bear. Before, it had only taken the dulcet tones of her mother's or father's beckoning voices to rouse her in the morning, but now Morgan found herself on quite the opposite end of the spectrum: her obligation to her people and her chance to alter her ruined future were the only causes the drove Morgan to enter the waking realm. She concluded that the purpose for which she stood was the hope that upon that fateful day when she would return to her father, she would slink down into his arms, he would hold her as he had so many years before, and all would become normal again. The details of it didn't matter, Morgan would make it happen. An unenthusiastic voice from above deck reported that the coastline of Plegia had come into view. Morgan took the small wooden box and removed from it her Plegian cloak. Donning it, she picked up a bronze sword and began flying through a tome on the elements of swordplay, all the while sizing up a practice dummy.

Of all the ports she had visited, Morgan was disheartened to discover that that of her own was in the worst state of decay. Scorch marks, whether from failed fire attacks or unsuccessful attempts to raze the entire area dotted the landscape. More noticeable, however, were the mountains of bodies. Men, women, and children alike, terror etched on their faces, crying out silently, frozen in their last moments of agony, pale blue and ghost-like already, guts spilling, gashes draw along them, flies congregating on their faces which, it appeared, were still pleading to Morgan as she passed. Still worse, however, were the pools of dried blood coalescing with the piles of baking, rotting flesh, creating a hideous and unavoidable stench of death. A stench so foul, even the vultures and crows dared not draw near, creating a certain demand of respect and solitude for those who lay massacred along the cobblestone streets. Eventually, Morgan found she needed to cover her eyes and nose to proceed as her stomach begged her to vomit and be done with it. Her Feroxi escort had already departed, thus, she was well and truly alone. She trod forward into the vast desert Plegian wastelands, a stirring in her heart unlike any she'd ever felt. Her father had spoken to her before of the urge she now felt; he had spoken of its ability to cloud one's mind and judgement, and, thus, should be avoided by anyone who hoped to make a reasoned decision. Morgan was not worried, however, about giving into her passions and was far beyond reasoning by this point. She was going to hurt someone. Badly.

Morgan spotted three knights, unmounted, walking across the desert sands in armor that shimmered silver and gold in the late afternoon sun. It would appear that they were scouting the area, for if not, they were poorly equipped to traveling in the Plegian desert, mired by the shifting sands as they plodded forward. They carried an indigo banner that featured what Morgan recognized as the Brand of the Exalt. She drew a silver blade from a hilt draped across her back, but hid it from view. One night hurried a bit ahead of his comrades, "Milady, are you lost? Are you a refugee?" She did not answer and hastened her steps to meet him. At a distance of about five feet, he stopped. She mirrored him. "Milady, I've no interest in harming you," the guard began earnestly, "but you must tell me who you are and what..." He spotted the blade poking out from behind her, "What is that in your hand?"

"Retribution!" she cried in return, lunging forward and shoving the blade into the knight's chest. She extended her foot forward and used it to push him of the sword. As he fell, Morgan saw his compatriot's rushing forward to attack, charging at each of her flanks. They raised their arms into a chopping motion in unison, but Morgan ducked and rolled back causing the knight at her left to hack off the other's hand. The latter fell to the ground howling in pain and grasping at the base of his non-existent wrist. Morgan stood as the other knight swung at her, this time horizontally. She parried the attack, then jumped and threw a roundhouse kick to the knight's face, knocking him to the ground with an amber flourish. She cut across his chest instinctually, and he bled to death clutching his insides as they spilled forth. She turned to the remaining knight, still blubbering and screaming at the bloody stump that replaced his hand. Morgan stomped a boot over his neck and plunged her sword into his chest, letting the hilt sink until it met his clothes. She shifted more pressure onto his neck and watched the life drain from his eyes, then removed her sword, cleaned it on the man's clothes, and sheathed the silver blade before turning back to face her intended destination. Her adrenaline gone, she panted fiercely as she carried on her journey.

The sun and the blood-red sky embraced the wind-whipped sands when Morgan arrived at Plegia Castle. She swallowed hard as she stood at the lofty purple doors and attempted to choke back her most recent memories of the home she had known all her life. As she entered, guards stood at each of her sides, threatening and halting her with steel-tipped lances. "You've got about five seconds to explain who you are and why you're here before I turn you into a kebab," the guard at her left snorted.

She pulled down her hood and rolled up her left sleeve to reveal the Mark of Grima on her shoulder, "I am Morgan, daughter of Robin and Tharja, and the rightful princess of Plegia."

"Fell-blood!" the guard at her right managed as his jaw dropped. He lowered his lance.

The other continued to inspect Morgan, "How do we know it's not fake?"

Morgan imitated her mother's voice as best she could, pointing two fingers to the guard, as if to cast a spell, "Why don't I show you, then, whelp?"

The guard dropped his lance as his eyes widened on the young girl, "NO! ...No, that's not necessary. G-go right ahead."

She nodded and smirked, "Thank you."

She walked forward, endlessly, it seemed, not daring to glance down any hallway and find evidence of the attack that had flung her from the building to begin with. She carried on silently, eyes locked straight ahead. Her sleeve remained rolled up, deterring any other who would approach her as she walked. Finally, she reached the throne room, but found no one in the mighty chair, only several bundles of colorful flowers with names scrawled across cards attached. She turned and walked to a room she had always been prohibited from entering, hearing a few hushed voices locked in long conversation. Her father had always called it the "War Room," and had held a meeting in it only once, several days after taking up the throne, or so he had told Morgan. He had neglected to explain what the meeting was about, preferring to digress onto referring to the other attendees as "pig-headed, war-mongering fools." Morgan opened the door to find three men, two with salt-and-pepper hair sitting at either side of a small, round, wooden table. The one at her left sported a small, curvy mustache. The third sat directly across from Morgan at the table and had scraggly, jet-black hair and the semblance of a beard smudged onto his weary face. His eyes were sunk deep and outlined in red, purple and black with fatigue below. He cast a suspicious glare at Morgan while the other two turned to face her, his pale green eyes contemplating hers, "Who're you?"

She rolled her eyes and turned to again show the Mark of Grima, "My name is Morgan. I am the daughter of King Robin and his wife Tharja, and the rightful queen of-" she stopped. All the men at the table kneeled before her.

"It's you..." The gray-haired man without the mustache breathed, "The Fell-blood girl."

The man with black hair stood carefully, "Milady. You honor us with your presence."

"My presence has not long been absent from this fortress. What makes my arrival now so special?" Morgan was now the one to cast the suspicious glare.

"Word has spread of the hardships you've endured, milady. Not to mention, you are, indeed, now the rightful queen of all Plegia," the black-haired man continued.

"I see," Morgan sighed, not addressing him. At last, a little reverence, at the least, she thought. "So," she snapped her fingers commandingly, "Names. How goes the war effort?"

The black-haired man leered at his two companions, "These men are of a Grimleal sect which prefers its members' names be kept sacred. Not that it matters; I'm Plegia's acting commander-in-chief, and I am called Lupris."

"Right then. Lupris. Where do we stand?" Morgan proceeded.

"We've no shortage of volunteers, that much is certain. We've held the borders all right, but our hold grows weaker each day. The Ylisseans prick at our lines daily, and we just don't have the sheer force or the time to strike back."

"Gridlock, is that all?"

"You mean to say you believe you know a way past it, milady? Or, should I say, your majesty?"

"Milady will suffice, Lupris. And yes, the solution to your problem is clear."

"Let's have it, then."

"There's no better defense than a good offense, as they say."

"I don't believe I follow, milady."

"We reallocate our resources and strike at Ylisstol. Close off the heart and the whole body will cease to function."

"I'd considered that line of thinking, milady, but I'm afraid the Ylissean's numbers and the time that would be needed to mobilize an army in that direction take that option off the table."

"We could kill both of those birds with one stone: employ a massive distraction. Draw some of the forces around Ylisstol away and leave us plenty of time to prepare and defeat whoever remains."

"It won't work, milady. Exalt Chrom will never send forces away from the capital."

"Exalt Chrom won't, no. But perhaps his daughter can be otherwise convinced."

"She does hold authority over about half of that force, aye, but how do you suppose we lure her away?"

"The same thing that caused her to declare war on Regna Ferox: me."

"But, shouldn't you lead the mobilization against Ylisstol?"

"Of course, but they don't need to know that. All we need is a decent look-alike. Believe me, that Lucina is mad enough to follow any lead."

Lupris slammed his fists on the table and cackled, "We're all gonna die or be the new heroes of legend. It's a fine plan, milady. Thy will shall be done."

Several days later, rumors of a raven-haired girl bearing the Mark of Grima arriving at Plegia Castle made their way to Ylisstol, catching Lucina like a bomb with a short fuse. Within hours, she had rounded up a massive force and sent them rushing to the northern border of Plegia, despite her father's protests. Just as planned, Morgan had snickered to herself before meeting with Lupris, whereupon the two mobilized just as quickly as Lucina to Ylisstol. The voyage was long, but Morgan had grown rather used to the prospect of traveling for long periods. She was prepared to drift off to sleep on the back of her horse when Lupris sidled up next to her, presenting a small violet-black stone. Morgan recognized it as Sable. "We managed to protect it before the Ylisseans could get ahold of it. Take it as a good-luck charm, or something," Lupris explained, handing it over. Morgan took it gratefully, then finally drifted to sleep with the rhythm of her horse's trot.

The sun lit the grassy fields of Ylisstol like sea foam and emeralds as the Plegian force approached its target. A call came up from within the ranks that ordered each unit to prepare for battle: the Ylisseans had spotted their advance and were now also on the move. Morgan was awake and fully prepared, sword unsheathed and tomes ready for use. She stared fiercely down the hillside her countrymen were crossing into the Ylissean capital. All at once, a tremendous roar broke out from each side as they sped toward and met each other, then came the great clashing of metal as the frenzied troops lashed out at one another. In the epicenter of the conflict, Morgan spotted what she had been looking for: a long, blue hairdo swishing about as a golden blade sparkled in streaks, weaving and cutting through soldiers. Morgan raised her hand, "Furor aurugine!" she commanded, and the area before her was consumed by a pillar of flame. As it died down, she leapt off her horse and rushed forward, her silver blade in hand. The Exalt spotted her and pointed Falchion at her, then mirrored her rush. The two met with a tremendous clash, each attempting to win the stalemate. Chrom's strength was superior, and he brought Falchion down to knock the blade from Morgan's hands. She doubled back and attempted to sidestep his swipes, but he retained superior training, too, and caught the side of her stomach. She ignored the cut and ran forward, tackling Chrom to the ground before he could react. Without a weapon, she was unsure how to proceed. She attempted to grip his throat, but he wrenched her hands away quickly, then kicked into her stomach to push her off. She flew to the ground and attempted to roll back up, but was held back down by Chrom's boot. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know?!" he barked, trying to make his voice clear over the roar of battle. Then, more to himself, "It never did."

"Wrong!" she cried in return. "You made it this way when you murdered my father, Ylissean bastard!"

"That was no choice of mine!" Chrom scowled. He looked to be fighting back tears.

"Lies, you craven!" Morgan continued, struggling in vain to push out from under the boot. "I saw you in the room with blood on your blade!"

"You mean the room that I allowed you, nay, begged you to flee, that I might spare your life?!"

"That you left me alive is irrelevant, Ylissean! You killed my father, and I have every intention of paying it back!"

Chrom scowled again as he raised Falchion and prepared to plunge it into the girl, but she took advantage of his distraction and slammed her fist into the back of his knee with all her might, causing the Exalt to buckle and drop the sacred sword. Morgan sprang up, reclaimed her sword, and kicked the Ylissean down as he attempted to pull himself up.

"I'm sorry," he bit his lip as she stood over him.

"Not enough to keep you from having done it to begin with," she spat, and shoved the blade into his throat, causing him to cough up a spray of blood. She regarded the corpse with contempt as she removed her sword, then began to search for Argent. Finding it, she removed the Emblem, which the Exalt had apparently taken to using as a shield, from his arm and began inserting the gemstones. She scurried away from the battlefield as a squad of Ylissean soldiers hurried forward to collect their fallen commander. Closer to the top of the hill, she met again with Lupris, "I need to be going."

"What? Now? But we can rally and win the day with some ease by now!"

"I know, and I leave that in your capable hands, Lupris. But I need to move out to Mount Prism."

"Could you wait to pray until after the battle, milady?"

"My purpose is not prayer. It is much greater. I cannot explain the nature of it, but know that it will, undoubtedly, rewrite history."

Lupris paused and contemplated a moment, "Make haste, milady."

She nodded succinctly, "I'll see to it all of Plegia shall forever remember your dedication, Lupris." She climbed back onto her horse and spurred it out of the capital.

Lupris rode in among his troops, "Alright, you Ylissean shits! I've been waiting weeks for this!" he decapitated a soldier with his axe. "Who else wants some?!"

Morgan, meanwhile, became a speck of dust on the horizon as she hurried along toward her destination.


	4. Chapter 4

Twisted Fate

Chapter Four

The battle was won. Lupris scratched his head, racked with incredulity at the fact that he had conquered Ylisstol. The once emerald fields were trampled, browned, and bloodied by battle, but Lupris absorbed the sight as beautiful nonetheless. He walked over to the site of Morgan's duel with Chrom, finding Falchion fallen to the wayside and a thick bloodstain pooling and marking the grass black and crimson. The corpse of the Exalt had been carried away long before the battle's conclusion. He picked up the holy sword and gauged it in his hand for a moment. The legends say that only those of direct relation to the Exalt can wield it, and that for others, the blade becomes as dull as stone, he considered. A neutral expression painted on his face, he drove the Divine Dragon's blade into the center of the Exalt's bloodstain. He considered the sword another moment, then called a soldier to his side, from whom he took a Plegian flag. Lupris cast a mocking glare to the sky, then draped the flag around the hilt of Falchion. It flapped dryly in the gentle wind. Another soldier jogged up toward the Plegian commander, "Sire, the remainder of the Ylissean forces approach. They received word of our attack and broke off from the border, and are but an hour's travel from us." "Damn," Lupris's eyes shot to the ground, "then we haven't much time. Get the men ready for combat." The guard saluted and hurried of toward a collection of troops, barking orders.

The Ylisseans made a sapphire streak on the horizon as they strode forward. As the faces in the huddled mass grew clear, Lucina's, periwinkle eyes gleaming with anger and determination, showed at the forefront of the group, her Parallel Falchion glittering, complimented by the golden sun, as her father's had. "Give us that damned Fell-blood girl!" she rallied, charging down the hill at the Plegian assembly.

"Come and get her!" Lupris cackled back. His men laughed condescendingly in unison as they held fast against the impending charge. Again, the great clashing of metal and frenzied cries rose into the sky.

"Where is she?!" Lucina demanded, swiping at Lupris's horse, causing it to rear and throw him to the dusty, trampled earth. Collapsed, he threw his sword out to parry her next strike. She kicked his head, causing him to drop the blade, "Where is Robin's daughter?!"

"Piss off," he coughed.

She stomped her foot down onto his face, shattering his nose with a sickening crunch, "Where is Morgan, you Plegian filth?!"

Blood ran down his cheeks, bright red, but his eyes still laughed, "I never quite got the story. Why was it you hung around ol' Chrom, again? Were you his daughter or his mistress? Or was it both?!"

"Disgusting wretch!" she spat, driving the holy blade into his esophagus and eliciting a stream of black blood that poured to the ground.

"Milady, the Fell-blood girl was spotted fleeing east by the pegasus knights," a soldier announced from over her shoulder.

East, though Lucina, what lies to the east of Ylisstol...

"No... Oh gods, no..." her eyes transfixed on the horizon. "Clear a path, now!" she commanded. Several hundred troops broke away and pushed at the Plegians standing before her. She darted along the path as it dissolved behind her, hopping onto a pegasus that was reigned at one of the Plegian tents, she took off toward Mount Prism.

Mount Prism was a utopia. Or, at least, it might have been, had the circumstances of Morgan's visit not been so dire. The grass was lush and vivacious, but not overgrown. The shimmering, icy blue rivers poured into gorgeous indigo pools which shone reflective light as great as that of the sun in the sky. The sky, too, was brilliantly lit and the purest blue conceivable, dotted only by the occasional cottony cloud drifting by in the gentle breeze. It was beautiful, no doubt, but Morgan couldn't help be irked by the area. Not to be so easily discouraged, however, she made her way to a cave where the rite of Awakening was intended to be held. Morgan could see why: the cave's walls were an otherworldly blue and glittered as she walked past. At last, she arrived at an altar and placed the Emblem atop it.

"Stop!" echoed a voice from the passageway. Lucina strode into the chamber, hair ragged, staring daggers into the Plegian queen. "You don't get to run away," she raised her Falchion and continued forward, "Not this time. Not today."

"So, I get the pleasuring of running you through as well?" Morgan taunted, also raising her blade.

"I give you one chance," Lucina stopped, "Lay down your weapon, and I'll make it quick and painless."

"Why don't you go fawn over your father's corpse, Ylissean she-devil!" Morgan leapt into an overhead slash, which Lucina parried with some ease. Lucina shoved the blade forward and threw Morgan off balance, then pivoted into a heavy swipe. Morgan skipped back in the nick of time and thrust her own blade at her adversary's chest, but she hopped to the side to avoid the attack. Lucina punched Morgan's head with the hilt of Falchion bracing her knuckles, drawing a bit of ruby-red blood and knocking her back. She pulled the sword back and grasped Morgan's shoulder, preparing to drive Falchion through her stomach. Morgan stared straight into the periwinkle eyes and spat, catching Lucina off guard, causing her to release her grip only for a moment. A moment was all Morgan needed, however, as she rammed her head into Lucina's, knocking the Ylissean princess over. Morgan allowed her weight to collapse over her and braced herself against her blade as it penetrated Lucina's stomach.

"Gods... I've... failed," she uttered with complete dismay, "My effort is... wasted." Her eyes began to well with tears as she choked on her regrets. She slowly began to cry openly, "Father! Why does fate curse us so?!" she slammed her eyes shut and gasped with sickness, "Why did it have to be like this?!" She sniffled miserably and regarded the bloodied Morgan.

"It had to be this way because you and your father together murdered four innocent people, three of whom were my only family, you crazed hag!" Morgan railed back. "I know I'd dare not believe in any gods who favored that cause!" Morgan stepped on Lucina's chest and ripped her sword out, causing Lucina to gasp in pain. "This is for my sister!" Morgan declared, and cut a line across Lucina's chest. "This is for my mother!" She cut vertically this time. "And THIS," her glare bore straight through Lucina's skull, "is for my father, you bitch!" she grasped her sword with both hands and impaled Lucina between her eyes. She cried out in mixed rage and sorrow at the body for several minutes before she remembered her purpose. "I call upon the Divine Dragon, Naga," she managed, clutching the gash which, she remembered, was still at her side, her face streaked by her own blood, "to reverse my fortunes. Take me back in time, that I might rescue my family and spare the world this fate."

Suddenly, the Divine Dragon appeared to Morgan in the form of a translucent, sparkling, blue-hued maiden with flowing pale-green hair. Her lavish voice echoed as she spoke: "I cannot do as you ask, child of Fell blood. You do not share the bond of my lineage."

"I care not. I can withstand any trial you put before me. I will brave your fire, or whatever it is you desire, to have my wish fulfilled," Morgan resolved, still grasping at her side.

"You misunderstand. I mean to say that such a feat is beyond my power without the link of blood," the shimmering form corrected.

"Wha- no. I brought the gemstones in the Shield of Seals. You must grant me your power. You... must," Morgan grasped dazedly.

"I cannot. Nor am I compelled to. By all rights, you are my foe, Fell-blood. I do not give you my aid. Your fate shall remain as it is," the Divine Dragon declared.

Morgan sunk to her knees, sputtering, "No, I... All this... for nothing? No... this can't be... Father..." she cried into her hands. For minutes, which seemed to drag on for eternity, she felt the blood drip from her at the same rate as the tears. No energy, no strength remaining in her body, she sobbed noiselessly, breathlessly and hung her head before the altar. The cave remained silent, too. All was empty, all was quiet. Morgan's vision went black.

In Ylisstol, a fraction of the Ylissean and Plegian forces scrummed in the battlefield, swiping with fatigue, pathetically carrying on, eventually sinking to the ground in anguish.

The force that remained at the Plegian border was decimated, bodies lining the wastes. Individuals coughed and stood, bleeding, awaiting two leaders who would never return.

In Regna Ferox, things were as cold and harsh as always, but misery hung in the air. Cries of agony rang out regularly. Many starved in silence. The luckiest were those who sat and wept for the passing of their Khan, Basilio, who had thrown himself before his fellow Khan to protect her. She wondered if she would see Regna Ferox die due to her mistakes.

In Valm, infighting had broken out again. Dynasts under Say'ri railed against the Ylisseans for their war mongering, while individuals, such as Rosanne, held fast in their loyalty to Ylisse. Walhart had eventually given way to his love for battle again and began a new campaign to reclaim control of the continent, one that would not be checked by Ylissean interlopers.

The world was a cauldron of bloody skirmishes. International cooperation fell apart. All was silent. It was said that day that black clouds fell upon the world all at once.

"Some fates are too cruel," Morgan heard a voice declare.

"F-father?" she pleaded, rasping.

"No. Not your father, anyway."

Morgan forced her eyes open. Despite what the voice had said, before her stood the image of her father, cloaked in a strange violet and amethyst mist.

"I am the Fell Dragon, Grima," it declared.

"But, you look just like my father..." Morgan insisted.

"Your father was my avatar in this world. But in your realm, he ignored his destiny as a god and fought to seal me, alongside his comrades-in-arms."

"Then why do you speak to me?"

"Because, as I said, I am not your father. Nor am I your Grima. I come from a different time. A ruined future. A land of constant despair."

"If you've come to wreak havoc, I'm afraid my own world fares no better."

"On the contrary, I was taught my folly by a young man. I saw the world destroyed and wondered what I would do, and why I had already done as I had. Now, I attempt to make amends."

"How do you mean?" Morgan pushed herself up, resting her weight on her outstretched knee.

"You share my blood, girl. A link beyond time. I will correct your fate. I will grant your wish."

"And how do I know this is not a trick? I may share your blood, but that does not mean I consider you my friend."

"Beggars can't be choosers, milady," the Fell Dragon laughed. And yet, it was not an intimidating, fear-inducing laugh. It was earnest, warm, and reassuring. Like... Like father's, Morgan thought. "But, in all seriousness, I can only implore your trust. I mean you no harm, young lady. What more do I stand to gain from further destruction?"

"Fine," Morgan declared, standing gingerly, "If you can bring me to my father, I care not."

"Then your wish is my command, my princess," the Fell Dragon raised his hand, smiling.

All at once, Morgan felt her senses fading, and she was wrapped up in a brilliant light. Was she dreaming? Was she dying? Morgan set her thoughts aside and allowed herself to be absorbed by the sensation.

Just as suddenly as it began, the sensation disappeared, replaced by the feel of cold ground. Morgan stood shakily, and locked eyes with her father.

"Hello, young lady," he extended a hand and a smile. "Do you need assistance?"

She blinked. Her heart raced, but her mind refused to keep pace. She knew this man. Every fiber of her being encouraged her to throw herself into his arms, but her body refused to comply. She limply extended her hand to his and felt his sheer force lifting her. Unable to react independently, she fell against his chest and pressed her hands into him to maintain her balance.

"Whoa, there," he stood her up on her own feet, "Are you feeling all right?" She glanced down and saw the gash at her side still present, then fell forward again, closing her eyes. Everything remained dark, as if in some terrible dream, but Morgan could hear indistinct voices prattle on for a few minutes. After they trailed off, she heard a murmured plea in her ears, then felt herself rising off the ground, accompanied by a rhythmic bouncing that jostled her at a brisk pace. After what felt like hours in the grip of the rhythmic movement, she felt herself lowered again, and took comfort in the soft feeling she landed upon. She pushed her eyes open. They fluttered a little and revealed her father standing over her, her mother staring, annoyed, from behind him, one arm draped over his shoulder.

Her father gasped, "Ah, you're awake. And now how do you feel?"

Her eyes glassed over, "Father..." she rasped.

"Huh?" Robin shook his head. He turned to his wife, "Did she say what I think she did?" He stepped closer to the girl and looked into her eyes. "Beg pardon?"

"I know this is hard to believe, but," she stifled tears so she could be understood, "I am your future daughter, Morgan. I came back to the past to rectify my own situation."

"You too?" Robin put an inquisitive finger to his chin.

"You'd be surprised, little girl," her mother stepped forward, "after Lucina revealed her identity, scores of your friends have been showing up."

"What do you-" Morgan caught herself. Of course, this was before the end of the Grimleal war. Lucina had arrived along with some of the Shepherds' other future children. "No, see, I come from a different future than them," Morgan explained.

"Or are you just afraid they won't recognize you because you're lying?" Tharja leered at her future daughter.

"Tharja, honey, please," Robin placed a placative hand on her shoulder. He evaluated the young girl a moment. "Well, you've certainly got her hair," he glanced back at his wife, "and that looks an awful lot like my coat." Morgan nodded her head. "I've got it!" Robin's eyes lit up. "I always swore I'd teach my child a passphrase. Let's see if this does it: 'Accidit quaerere incipient ?'"

Morgan recognized the phrase immediately. Her father had practiced it with her countless times. "Being able to quickly trust and combine with allies is an important foundation for tactical dominance," he had always said. "Responsis videberis," she replied casually.

Robin's jaw dropped slightly, "Gods..."

"What does that even mean?" Tharja rolled her eyes.

Robin looked back to his daughter, "Why don't you tell her?"

"I was told that it was an important tenet of a creed of the Plegian military that whose actual meaning was never meant to be shared outside the brotherhood of the soldiers," Morgan repeated her departed father.

Tharja cocked her head, "I am aware of that tradition, but that is not a part of the current Plegian military creed." She thought a moment and continued, "The Writing of the Creed is a tradition that only takes place after a coronation."

"And I've never shared that thought with anyone," Robin added.

"Nailed it," Morgan sat up a bit on the cot she was laid in on the floor.

"So, you're saying..." Robin looked upward.

"You became king of Plegia, yes," Morgan completed his thought.

"It's a good narrative, but I don't buy it," Tharja glared at the girl.

"There's this, too," as she had recently done many times, Morgan rolled up her sleeve to reveal the Mark of Grima on her shoulder.

Robin stared at the mark thoughtfully a moment, then, suddenly, his eyes flashed with realization as he cast his gaze down to his own hand. He nodded back to her, "Welcome home, my daughter."

Tharja glared back at her husband, "What? All she showed us was some tattoo on her arm-"

"She's ours," Robin put a finger into Tharja's chest, letting the Mark on his hand become clear to her, "It's no tattoo."

"F-father..." Morgan sniffed. Her emotions had finally forced their way to the top and she leapt into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's okay, Morgan, sweetheart," Robin repeated as he held her, patting her back softly.

"Oh gods, father!" she sniffed between sobs.

"Everything is all right, honey. You're going to be fine," he continued to coo.

Tharja scowled. Is this what parenthood would be like? All the hugging and crying and "sweetheart" this and "honey" that. It made her a bit sick to her stomach. Still, she regarded her husband with some awe. The girl was beginning to calm down; he had handled the situation flawlessly without even knowing she was his daughter until several minutes ago. She smiled just a bit and put a hand to her daughter's back as well, "Enough crying, huh?"

"Tharja..." Robin smiled back at his wife. She was trying, at least.

At last, Morgan regained her composure, "Thank you father, mother. I love you both so much," her eyes remained glassy, then slowly flittered shut.

"I suppose she's had a big day," Robin chuckled, picking his daughter up in his arms.

"Where are you going to take her?" Tharja asked.

"I'll get her a tent all her own for tonight."

Robin set his daughter down on the fresh linen and placed a kiss on her forehead, "Goodnight, Morgan. I love you." He glanced at Tharja expectantly.

She rolled her eyes and also kissed her daughter's head, "Mother loves you, too," she added, a little dryly.

"Why do you never carry me like that?" Tharja asked her husband as the two proceeded out of the tent.

"I wasn't aware you wanted to be carried," Robin scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh, no. Why would I want to be swept up in my husband's big, strong arms and whisked away?" she said in her signature monotone.

"Sorry," he stepped behind her at an angle and, in one motion, threw her up into his arms, "I'll try to make up for lost time."

She blushed in surprise. Usually, it took a little more convincing to get Robin to have a little fun, but something was different about him on this night. He was drastically more... whimsical. "Better," she smirked knowingly.

"Say, you're light as a feather, honey," he mused, readjusting his arms underneath her.

"Be careful, the package is still fragile," she traced her finger down his arm.

"Not to mention priceless. A real work of art," he stared down into her eyes.

She blushed even more, lightning her pale face up red as a strawberry, "I could have married you for that silver tongue alone," she laughed, tucking her head deeper into his caress.

"Then just wait until you see what the rest of me can do."

"Not as subtle, but I'll take it," she laughed louder.

Now it was Robin's turn to blush, "Wait. That came out wrong."

"Sounded fine to me," she put her hand up to his chin and caressed his cheek. His eyes shut and he smiled at her touch.

"Home sweet home," he announced, looking out at Tharja's tent.

"Nuh-uh," she poked his chest, "I'm sleeping in your tent tonight."

"Tharja, I love you, but doesn't this feel a little, I don't know, forward?" he stammered. "I mean, what would people think?"

"Have I ever shown any semblance of giving a damn about what the others think?" Robin looked away, then shook his head. "You're my husband. You're the only one I care about. What do you think?"

"I think you're gorgeous and positively adorable," he coddled.

"Good. Now, my husband's going to be a nice boy and give his wife what she wants, isn't he?" she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"The gods themselves couldn't get me to say 'no' now," he said, notably short of breath, and began to carry her off into his tent.


	5. Chapter 5

Twisted Fate

Chapter Five

A ray of pale sunlight pierced the thin walls of the tent as Robin sat up gingerly, pushing himself up from his cot. The morning was still, quiet, and peaceful. He surmised that the other Shepherds were likely not yet awake. He began to shift softly from the cot, but felt an arm from beneath grasp his wrist. "It's too early," a miserable voice slurred.

"I want to check on the girl," he whispered back, and then began to stand. Again, he was stopped, this time by a hand holding down his shoulder. His wife's bare chest met his back, and he shuddered at the touch.

"Sleep a little longer," she insisted groggily, extending her arm across his chest.

"Would that I could, Tharja," he sighed, bringing the hand up to his lips, then dropping it to his side. He stood and began to gather his clothes. Tharja snickered maliciously behind him. "Is something funny, my lovely wife?" he said with a bit of sardonic deference as he pulled his smallclothes on.

She chuckled a little more, "No, I'm just feeling lucky today. And every day I get to wake up next to you."

Robin blushed, finishing pulling on his tan trousers. It was easy to forget how sweet his wife could be, given her rather caustic nature toward anyone other than Robin himself. "Thank you, Tharja. The feeling is mutual, I assure you," he said, slipping his shirt, also tan, with lines running down the cottony fabric, over his head.

"Is that the best you can do?" she hung her head.

He kneeled in front of her on the cot and placed his hands on both her shoulders, staring into her eyes, "No, sorry. You mean the world to me, Tharja. You are absolutely beautiful, and I don't think I could live without you. And know that every moment I spend away from you, I dream of having you right back by my side." He pulled her into a kiss, "Was that better?"

Her pale face became beet red, "I suppose I can accept it."

"Glad to hear it," he concluded, pulling his arms through his cloak, adding, "I'll be back before long, I promise. ...You may want to put some clothes on, too, honey." She chuckled slyly as she regarded her husband, but said nothing as he continued out of the tent.

Morgan's eyes slowly drew open and set her vision upon a brown leather boot that sat in front of her. Looking up, she found the owner of the boot stroking her back gently.

"Good morning, sweetie," her father said in a reassuring voice.

"Father..." she replied. Her eyes became misty again.

"Sorry, did I do something wrong?" Robin withdrew his hand and touched it to his neck, "I hope you'll forgive me, I'm really not sure how to handle such things-"

"No, it's all right," she wiped the moisture from her eyes, "I'm glad. Glad that what I recalled from yesterday wasn't some feverish dream. It's really you, father!" She flashed a bright smile at him.

"Oh, right then. Yes, I'm glad that you are no illusion as well," Robin's face gladdened, though his response was uncertain.

She laughed at him softly, "You never did know what to say at times like this, daddy."

"Well, thank you, my loving daughter," he joked back.

"I'm sorry, father," she sat up to face him, then embraced him tightly.

"It's quite all right," he smiled, patting her back. "Now," he said as she broke the hug, "I was hoping to speak with you a bit, if you're amenable to the idea."

"I've wanted nothing more since I got here!" she grinned. As Robin opened his mouth to speak again, her stomach growled loudly. "How about over breakfast?" she laughed.

He joined her, "Not a problem. I'll bring your mother along. We aren't marching today, so I'll find us a nice restaurant in town." He stood and headed toward the tent flap, extending his hand to his daughter as she mirrored him.

Tharja sighed slightly. She understood how her husband enjoyed these sorts of affairs, but couldn't get past all these... people. How could she express the extent of her affection for him with all their lecherous eyes on her? The thought alone made her cringe.

"Are you cold, honey?" an arm wrapped around her shoulder, "You're looking quite pale."

"I always look like that, and knock it off with the 'honey' stuff," she pouted.

"Eat something, at least, then. You're worrying me," he ran the back of his hand along the side of her face. Tharja begrudgingly cut into the meat on the plate before her. "So, Morgan," Robin began ceremoniously, "what can you tell us about your future? You said it was different from the others'."

Her eyes narrowed as she stopped cold. What could she tell them? Would they believe her? Would they heed her warning? Would it even matter? Morgan cursed herself for not thinking beyond meeting her father in her plan. "Well," she began uneasily.

She detailed for her parents the events of her journey, telling of her father's coronation and rule, of their assassinations, as well as that of her sister, and of how she fled to Regna Ferox. She explained her plan to perform the Rite of Awakening and the few weeks' quest of acquiring the gemstones. Her heart sank as she began to tell of the battle where she slew Chrom, and she became distraught upon recalling her bout with Lucina. Amidst painful memory-induced delirium, she told of how the Fell Dragon had delivered her to their arms. Tharja mostly ignored the tale, which troubled her daughter, but Robin sat and absorbed every word, carefully measuring its weight in his mind until his daughter finished speaking.

"So, what do you think?" Morgan asked her father anxiously as she finished.

"Firstly, I'm proud I, or, that is, the me of the future, raised a daughter so strong and capable as to have endured such hardships," Robin declared solemnly.

"You mentioned a sister?" Tharja piped up.

"Yes. Noire was her name. She was tall and skinny. And pale, like you, mother. Oh, and she had father's hair. She was kind of a scaredy-cat, for whatever reason..." Morgan elaborated, her hand clutched at her shoulder.

"I'm... sorry for your loss," Tharja managed, the abnormal tone of sincerity in her voice rising to the top.

Morgan's face softened, "It's much easier just having you both here now."

"I promise we aren't going anywhere soon," Morgan's father cupped a gloved hand over her bare one. "Moreover, though. I'd like to revisit what you said about Grima. Are you certain of what you saw? That he appeared in my form? And the talk of me being his Avatar?"

Morgan considered the question carefully, attempting to separate her certainties from what might only have been imagined, "I... I don't know. I was so certain I heard your voice, but, everything else seemed so... surreal."

Robin nodded succinctly, then looked piteously at his daughter, "I really am sorry for all that you had to endure."

Morgan swept it aside, "Today's a new day." Her eyes betrayed her lips as she spoke.

"What do you plan to do now?" Robin patted the small hand his own was covering.

"I suppose I'll remain at your side for as long as necessary to prevent my future," she looked back to her father earnestly.

"You mean you're going to hang at my husband's side at every waking moment for who knows how long? Sorry, but that's my job, kid," Tharja scoffed, finishing with a snarky grin.

"Tharja, honestly..." Robin sighed exasperatedly. She giggled gleefully in response. "Care to take a little walk around camp with me, Morgan?" he asked after a moment.

"Certainly," Morgan nodded, eyes brightening.

"You two have your little moment," Tharja dismissed frustratedly, "I've got some prep work to do for my hexes."

"You mean you don't want to accompany me, Tharja? This is a first," he removed the glove from his right hand and held the back of it to his wife's forehead, "Are you certain you're feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," she stood from her seat and hurried out of the small café.

Robin watched her dejectedly. "Better to let her cool off, I suppose," he explained to his daughter.

"Robin, there you are!" came a voice from behind the tactician.

"Chrom. Good morning," Robin extended, turning in place at the sound of his name.

Robin, taking note of his daughter's silence, as well as a sudden tensing of her hand, preparing it to ball into a fist, spoke for her, "Chrom, this is my daughter from the future, Morgan."

Chrom's eyes widened, "Truly? Robin, that's amazing. It's a pleasure to meet you, Morgan. I'm certain you had to endure much to get here." He extended his hand to the girl.

Chrom's eyes widened, "Truly? Robin, that's amazing. It's a pleasure to meet you, Morgan. I'm certain you had to endure much to get here." He extended his hand to the girl.

"Yes, I did," she leaned onto her father, ignoring the gesture.

"She's still rather tired," Robin said to cover his daughter's impertinence.

"Naturally," Chrom's expression reverted to a neutral one. He turned back to Robin, "In any case, I'd like to meet with Frederick thus afternoon. He tells me Validar would like to extend negotiations between Ylisse and Plegia."

"Interesting," Robin put a thoughtful hand over his chin. "I'll be ready when you are."

"Good," Chrom concluded, and started off in the opposite direction. Robin and Morgan continued forward on their walk.

Chrom summoned his breath and carefully parted the tent flap. Seeing no one, he stood at the entrance a moment. "...Tharja?" his voice finally managed to throw out. The blankets over Robin's cot roused in a shuffling bundle and a mop of raven-black hair spurted from underneath.

"What is it?" A pale face and icy stare met Chrom.

"Could we speak about Robin a moment?" he scratched the back of his neck.

She giggled maliciously, "My favorite subject. What did you want to talk about?"

"First and foremost, I wanted to thank you," he began uneasily.

"For what?" she scoffed back.

"For providing him with a distraction. If not for you, I think, perhaps, Robin would consider his duties his only life and family. I don't know if he's told you as much, but I know that you give him purpose in life. Your presence gives me hope that he can be something more than just a tactician when we return to Ylisse," Chrom announced happily.

She huffed at him, "Much as I appreciate all the lauding, I certainly hope you didn't wake me just for that."

"No," Chrom continued, though that statement had been the base of his coming here to begin with, "I also wanted to talk about the girl, Morgan, was it? She seems, how do I put it? Distant. Even resentful, somehow."

"Mayhap she just takes after her mother," Tharja began to bury herself back beneath the blankets. "Anyway, what do you care? She isn't your daughter."

"No," Chrom tilted his gaze so it still met Tharja's, "but I would rather like to know if and why the girl would hate me."

"Oh, so this is about you," Tharja concluded dryly, "Cry me a river, Queenie. Or just leave me alone." She fully covered herself with the blankets.

"Will you at least talk to her, on order of your captain?" Chrom pleaded.

"I don't take orders from you, Ylissean," she snarled, "I'm here to stand at my husband's side. Nothing more, nothing less."

Exasperated, Chrom through up his hands and left with a sigh.

"Lucina, good day!" called Robin, as he strode toward the young royal, Morgan at his heels.

"Robin," she gave a small grin, "well met. What can I do for you?"

"I purchased a new rapier for you in the last town. I hoped you might put it to good use," he smiled back, holding the slender blade ceremoniously before her.

She took it from him quickly, eliciting a sharp exhale from the raven-haired girl, who clutched her father's sleeve. "And who might you be?" Morgan cast a burning stare in response.

"Forgive her, she's tired," Robin placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder, "this is my daughter, Morgan."

"Why, Robin, she looks scarcely younger than you!" Lucina cupped a hand over her mouth.

Robin laughed, blushing slightly, "From the future, by the gods, Lucina. From the future."

"Strange," Lucina furrowed her brow, "I don't recall father ever mentioning you having a daughter."

"And what do you recall about me?" Robin cast a snide look. She looked to the side nervously, stammering. "As I thought," he laughed, "Not to worry; no harm done. I just thought I'd introduce her." He waved and turned back, "I'll see you later."

"Right," she acceded dryly, eyes still focused on the tactician's back. Morgan cast another vicious glare over her shoulder.

"Honestly, I don't know how you can come to stay awake all night like this," Tharja moped over her husband's shoulder, examining his work.

"Nor I how you could spend the whole day undressed and sleeping in my tent," he deflected humorously, "Not that I'm complaining." She giggled darkly, as was her habit, and began to work her hands along his back, eliciting a pleased sigh.

"Whoop! Oh, gods!" came a voice from the front of the tent. The two whirled in place, Tharja covering herself behind her husband's cloak, to a crimson-faced Morgan, who immediately looked away.

Tharja sighed, "You again. What do you want?"

"Terribly sorry," she covered her eyes with her hand as though shielding them from the sun, "I thought, maybe... One of you might tuck me in." Her voice reached a sheepish crescendo and she tugged at her sleeve nervously.

Her father laughed amicably, "Aw, of course, honey." He stopped a moment and showed consideration on his face. "Tharja, why don't you do it?"

She leaned into her husband's face and whispered, lips pouting, "Why me?"

"I feel like I've been monopolizing her time. You should bond with her, too, Tharja. You're her mother," he replied. She stared disinterestedly. "Then maybe you'll just do it for me?" Robin let his eyes plead.

"Fine, but you owe me," she breathed, tracing a finger down his chest.

"Might want to throw some clothes on, sweetheart," he held up a finger. She giggled again.

After a quick nod from her father, Morgan stepped out of the tent and waited at the flap. After a few minutes, Tharja, now sufficiently dressed, stepped out, and began to walk to her daughter's tent.

"Satisfied?" Tharja droned, drawing a blanket over the girl.

"I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you, mother. I won't ask you to do this again," her face drooped.

Tharja rolled her eyes, "No, it's all right. I'm just still getting used to this 'motherhood' spiel." She waved a curly, jet-black bang from her daughter's face. "You're a good girl to tolerate your mother's insensitivity.

"I'm simply elated to have you back, mom. I missed you so much," she tried unsuccessfully to choke back a wave of tears.

"Now, now. Enough of that," Tharja patted her daughter's chest.

"Robin!" came a gruff, deep voice from within the inky darkness.

It was a voice Robin recognized, "Basilio?"

The Feroxi khan stepped into view, bruised and bloodied, but alive, "The one and only! Har har!"

"I was told you were killed by Walhart!" Robin exclaimed.

"Aye, I might have been, but thanks to the Ylissean lass's warning, I swallowed my pride and played 'possum for that deranged lobster look-alike," he recounted proudly.

"That's great," the gears in Robin's head began to turn.

"Well, whaddya think? Should I start breaking the good news?" Basilio grinned.

"No! Not yet. There may be strategic merit to the pretense that you are dead," Robin surmised.

"I don't know that I follow, but I'm all ears," Basilio attended.

Robin lowered his voice to a whisper, "We march for Plegia castle tomorrow. King Validar claims he wishes to give us Sable as a show of good will."

"Hogwash," Basilio spat, "There ain't nothing 'good willed' about that serpent."

"I concur," Robin held his finger up demonstratively, "but your living without anyone else's knowledge means I have an option I didn't before. Chrom intended to bring the Emblem with him, where it is subject to theft at the chance of an ambush, rather than leave it in Ylisstol where some other force may get to it."

"But now you get to hide it where it can't be, I get it!" Basilio laughed.

"The Emblem itself is to cumbrous and detailed to forge, however. Perhaps we could, instead, create a set of false gemstones," Robin continued. The two began to plan the details of their subterfuge as the torch that illuminated Robin's tent gave way to cinders.


	6. Chapter 6

Twisted Fate

Chapter Six

Robin sighed audibly, putting a hand to his head. The day had been long, the battle rather brutal, but, more so than anything, Robin had succumbed to Validar's powers. Robin was slightly relieved that Validar did not hold the real gemstones, but he did hold the Emblem and, more disturbingly, he had forced Robin to betray his closest friend. Chrom had tried to reassure his tactician, but the regret continue to pervade his mind. And, Robin knew, someone else would not take kindly to such an act against Chrom. It was her footsteps that Robin heard as she strode up, he lifting his gaze from the ground: "Beg pardon, Robin. Might I have a word?"

"...Lucina. What is it?" Robin broke from his trance. He suspected he already knew what Lucina was about to say.

"It's about my father. I have memories of him, you know. From when I was little. Before he...died." Her eyes drooped slightly and her fists tensed.

"I see..." Robin mused, he could tell she was dancing around the issue.

"He was courageous, and kind, and everyone spoke fondly of him. People say he was brave right up until the very end. I always yearned to know him better. And now that I do... I can see that the world will be robbed of a very great man. ...I won't allow that to happen," she concluded, eyes toward the sky, rather than facing Robin.

"I understand. You love him. ...We all do," Robin continued, ready for the conversation to end.

"Robin, I... Please, forgive me..." she swallowed, lifting Falchion to Robin's chest.

"Lucina?!" Robin cried. He hadn't expected it to come to this. Immediately, his thoughts rushed to Morgan's story. But by this point, her prediction would be many years too early. Did her return only facilitate her father's demise? He lurched forward to attempt to calm the Ylissean princess.

To no avail. Her eyes burned with contempt, "Stay where you are, Robin! I have no choice. I must kill you."

"What?! What madness is this?!" Robin stammered, though he doubted appeal to reason would sate Lucina's anger.

"In my future, you... You are my father's murderer," her voice wavered.

"No! That's insane! Why would I kill Chrom?" Robin started. The betrayal remained in his mind, however.

"I was not certain myself, until now... I knew he had been killed by his closest friend. Having witnessed your bond with him, I doubted it could be so... But today's events make it clear. You are at Validar's mercy. I suspect it's he who forces you to take my father's life, and very soon..." she leaned forward and tightened her grip on the blade, readying her strike.

"Lucina, wait," Robin held his hands out in placating fashion.

"If my father is right, then we can change our fates. If this dark future is to be averted, sacrifices must be made. I am sorry, Robin! I know this is murder, I... I know that..." her face tensed, but she was undeterred.

Robin continued to bargain, "Lucina, you don't have to-"

"Don't make it harder! Don't resist, and your death will be swift and painless. If you hold any love for Chrom, then let this be done..." she barked, poised to strike.

Suddenly, with a whipping wind, a blow landed on her head, toppling the Ylissean princess to the ground. Morgan stood over her, blade pointed to her chest. "Not this time. Make your peace with Naga, you damned witch," Morgan spat, waving the sword at Lucina.

"Morgan, peace!" her father insisted.

"Yes, that's quite enough," Chrom commanded, stepping out from a nearby boulder.

After searching her father's face, Morgan sheathed her blade and walked to his side. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders. Chrom helped his daughter to her feet, leading her to take a similar stance at his side.

"What did you mean, 'Not this time?'" Chrom looked to the young Plegian girl. She responded with an icy glare. He looked to his tactician instead, "Robin, is there something you aren't telling us?"

Robin's mind raced. There didn't appear to be a viable lie to avoid the question, but he feared he could not trust the Ylissean prince and his daughter with the truth, as they may decide to act like their future selves, given the knowledge of Robin's purported connection to Grima. "She was worried, overly so. I am also killed in the future, and Morgan wants to do everything she can to prevent that outcome, as I'm certain Lucina does of you, Chrom," Robin finally managed.

Chrom leered at his friend skeptically, but lifted his head in accedence after a moment. "Lucina," she had raised Falchion again, "lower your sword..."

"But, Father-"

"LOWER YOUR SWORD!"

"A-all right," she resigned, sheathing the holy blade. "...I can explain," she began to plead to her father.

Chrom shook his head, "There's no need. You're not the only one who can eavesdrop. I heard every word. Lucina, I know your heart is in the right place... But I trust Robin. You cannot shake my faith in him."

"This is not about trust! He'll be the death of you!" she cried.

Again, Chrom shook his head, and this time placed a commanding finger on his daughter's chest as he lectured, "Robin and I have held fast through good times and ill... We swore to be two halves of a greater whole. You underestimate the strength of those ties, the bonds we share. I believe in them more than some foretold 'destiny.'"

"That is easier to say when you haven't seen it yourself..." she pressed, her rebuttal losing steam as her voice filled with pain.

"Lucina, aren't our ties stronger here now than they were in your future? You said so yourself. In this flow of time we are bound tighter than ever, you and I. Not just as father and daughter... But as friends. We can change things - we already have...and we will again," he punctuated his statement with a warm smile.

"...Very well, Father," Lucina sighed unhappily, "I would ask your forgiveness, Robin, but I cannot expect it."

"I do forgive you, Lucina. You needn't speak of it again," Robin soothed. His daughter looked to him angrily as the words passed over his lips.

"I pray... That is, I trust the both of you will prove me wrong. And that this future will fall to pieces before your bond ever would," she began to walk away.

"He may be kind to a fault, but know that I do not forgive you, girl," growled Morgan.

"Robin?" Chrom looked to him.

"Morgan, enough. Perhaps we should get you to bed early," he began to drag her away.

She calmed herself for her father and began to slink away alongside him, still seething at the image of the blue-haired girl pointing her blade at her father, but felt thankful that she had been there to prevent it. As long as it takes, she repeated in her mind.

Robin sat up, eyes heavy with fatigue, and found his wife leaning over him, waving her hand and reading from a tome, lips making small clicks and murmurs as a candle played shadows upon her visage. "Tharja? What are you up to?" he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Urgh, it's not strong enough," she huffed. Then, in response to her husband, "I was trying to hex you to sleep, given your current stint of night terrors, but I can't seem to bring your mind to a standstill." He noticed her eyes were glassy in the low, flickering light as she reported, "Robin, you're under stress that would ordinarily kill a person."

"Then I'm lucky to have you at my side," he dismissed. "Thank you, anyway, Tharja."

"No, no, no," she pressed her palm onto his sternum, pushing him back down, "You don't get to play knight in shining armor to the blushing bride if it means I lose you."

Robin could feel his chest wrench and clutch at him. "Like it or not, Tharja, I'm a man first. If I have to give my life for you and Morgan, I will."

Her eyes widened slightly and she moved her hands to his shoulders, "Don't speak like that. No one has to die. And don't be so quick to throw your life away, there are at least two people still counting on you."

"I know, Tharja. I know," he settled into the cot. A sly smile played across his face as an idea reared its head in his mind, "I think I may know a better method of inducing sleep," he wrapped his arms around her neck and eyed her playfully.

She laughed, "You're not off the hook... But you've caught my attention," she lowered herself onto him with a sinister grin.

His breathing was quiet and rhythmic. Tharja sighed contentedly and slid herself deeper into his arm, already clutched firmly around her. She placed a hand on his chest and felt it rise and fall again and again. Up and down. Never a miscommunication. Satisfied that she had worn her husband out, she tucked her head into his neck and wrapped her leg around his and allowed the warm darkness of sleep to envelop her.

Robin's mind never fully settled, despite his body's exhaustion. Throughout the evening, he wrestled with the image that had served as his only memory: Chrom's pained face, a bolt of magic piercing his chest at an angle, the agonizing sputtering that came from his friend's mouth as he collapsed to his knees. Then, that maniacal laughter, the throbbing in his head, it was Validar's work, no doubt, but the feel of it still haunted Robin. From the strike, he felt equal parts removed and forcibly, sickeningly incorporated. All at once, the dark fantasy was broken as a soft breath crawled over his face. His eyes opened slightly to reveal his wife, sleeping in dignified silence, a knowing smile plastered on her slumbering lips. Robin closed his eyes again and settled himself. It won't end like that, no matter what, his thoughts demanded, and he began to imagine a new, more pleasant world.

The crack of the bolt as it hit Chrom's chest made Robin start, just as it had in his many dreams of the event. Had it worked, though? Had Robin managed to weaken his magic? As Chrom recoiled and dropped to his knees, the odds seemed slim, and even slimmer as he dropped into a pile on the ground. Validar laughed insultingly over them.

Morgan and Lucina both watched on in horror. Morgan was shocked to see her father become the villain of the situation. There must be a reason for this, she rationalized. Lucina was the first to speak. "N-no..." she whimpered. Then, she clutched both hands to her head and cried, "Father, no!"

She hung her head as Validar laughed again, "With the five gemstones in hand, my magic knows no bounds. Robin is powerless to resist me!"

Robin was paralyzed. He bit and tore in his mind to bring forth the urge to move, but remained rooted in place. He grunted with effort as he tried, drawing Morgan's attention.

"Do you see now, son? Human bonds are leaves in the wind. They offer you nothing," continued Validar.

"This can't be happening," Lucina sank in desperation, "We were supposed to change this."

The other Shepherds tore themselves away from the fighting and began to notice the scene.

"We still can, and we will!" Rallied Morgan.

Validar twitched and glanced at the girl, "And who are you to suggest you may defeat me, little girl?"

"I am Morgan, daughter of Robin," she held up her tome, poised to strike, "and you are going to get out of my way!"

"Heh heh, such insolence," Validar chuckled, "How would you care for a little infanticide on top of your regicide, son?" Robin began to slowly step toward Morgan, his face straining and pushing at Validar's control with every footfall.

"I think he'd like for you to finally shut your damn mouth!" a familiar voice laughed. Basilio stepped in between the two daughters. Turning to Morgan, he smiled, "You got some moxie, kid." He then looked back to the onlooking Shepherds, each stunned and gasping, "And to the rest of you: Don't you put any stock in this 'destiny' hogwash."

"Khan Basilio! I-I thought... We all thought you were..." Lucina struggled to pose the question on everyone else's mind.

"Worm food back in Valm?" the khan laughed, "It almost went that way, but thanks to you, I managed to scrape by."

"I don't understand," Lucina admitted.

"As soon as I took a couple hits from Walhart, I knew he was too much for me," Basilio began, "Ordinarily, pride would've had me dead before I gave it a second thought, but you gave me the courage to be a coward! Har har!" "I played dead like a big bald opossum," he laughed raucously, "It wasn't hard: in truth, I almost was dead." He sobered slightly, " You saved my life, Lucina. If you hadn't said anything, I'd have stood my ground against that monster and died on the spot."

"Oh, Basilio," Lucina's countenance brightened.

"If you're QUITE finished," barked a frustrated Validar, "This... does... not ... matter! If you didn't die there , you can die here!" He began to hold up the Emblem.

"Hold up, there, snake eyes," Basilio glared at the Grimleal commander, "You're no Walhart. You're nowhere near as strong, or even as clever. For example: you've yet to realize you've been tricked!"

"What?!" belted Validar.

"Robin predicted everything that would happen here; saw it in a dream," the khan reported with a sardonic smile, "Saw this very fight with you."

Validar gathered himself with a scoff, "If you think-"

"I wasn't done yet," Basilio shook his head. "You know what else was in the dream? The five gemstones. When Flavia gave my stone to Chrom, Robin knew what fate had in store. He knew he couldn't have Chrom bring the real gemstones here to Plegia; that would be like waving a big, juicy steak in front of destiny's choppers!"

"Gwah hah! A worthy bluff, Feroxi fool, but a ridiculous one, nonetheless. I've had your every move watched since Carrion Isle. Every move!" Validar cackled. "I know Robin hasn't touched the stones. Not once!"

"You watched our party, yes," Basilio mused, "the members your men knew about; the live ones." "But they weren't watching dead ones; they weren't watching," a terrific grin spread across Basilio's face, "me!"

Validar became shocked again, "I- no, that's not..."

"Is it finally sinking in?" Basilio mocked.

"That is not possible!" Validar cried. "They have to be... they must be..."

"Why? Because of 'destiny?' PAH ha ha!" Basilio fell into another fit of laughter. "Robin had your 'destiny' beat days ago when he came up with this plan. And the look on you face now makes all the nights spent in hiding worth it!"

Validar's composure finally broke, "Damn you! Damn you to all the hells! None of this matters! Chrom is still dead! Fate has been sealed!"

Robin, long since free of his father's control, unleashed a blast of magic to knock the Grimleal commander away and helped Chrom to his feet.

"I knew it!" Morgan cheered. She and Lucina stood opposite their fathers, encircling Validar's collapsed form.

"No..." he managed.

"Father, you live yet?" Lucina was amazed at her fortune.

"Robin spared me. He weakened his magic... at the last moment," Chrom panted, still clutching the wound.

"Damn you all and damn your stones!" cursed Validar, "I don't need them to kill you!"

"Ready to finish this, Robin?" Chrom extended.

"Yes. I'm ready to see what our true future has in store," Robin readied his tome and his daughter mirrored him. Chrom and Lucina grasped their twin Falchions, leaning forward.

"And where will you go now, you mad wizard?" Morgan railed. The four collapsed their attack on Validar, rending his side and throwing him to the floor, where the life ebbed from his eyes and out through his chest.

"Why would you squander your birthright, my son?" grasped Validar as the light of his consciousness faded.

"We've done it, Robin," Chrom praised. "We've saved our future!"

A flash of light interrupted them, a sinister voice calling out, "You may have altered its course, but not its destination."

"You!" Robin called to the spitting image of himself, previously introduced as Validar's 'hierophant,' "What do you mean?"

"It is still written that Chrom dies here at your hands. Or, perhaps, more precisely, mine," the figure suggested.

"Do you mean to say-" Chrom started. Robin and Morgan shared a concerned glance.

"Indeed," he concluded, "I am Robin, and I am the Fell Dragon, Grima. When this girl of yours traveled back into the past, I followed her," Both fathers looked to their daughters, "and henceforth, I corrected every crack she tried to make in history's lovely little narrative."

"But how can you be me if I rejected the Fell Dragon?" a perplexed Robin asked.

"The difference between us is the decisions we have made, yes. But time does not follow a straight line. It is more akin to the branches of a tree. In technicality, I belong to a future, a world, which no longer exists due to your choice. But I can still crush this one!" the Fell Dragon lectured ominously. "I intended to meet with you on the day you lost your memory. Your heart was too weak to retain my power, thus the amnesia. And thus, we are not yet one and the same. You were meant to choose godhood over your subservient role under these ungrateful fools."

"Then you concede we have altered our fate," Robin stepped forward, determined.

"Not quite. If you will not accept the sacrifice to Grima, I will do so in your place!" laughed Robin's doppelgänger. He began to summon to him a foul darkness which welled up with energy, coalescing into him at the center.

"Oh no, you won't!" Morgan charged ahead, throwing herself over the distorted shadow of her father. When they met, a ball of brilliant violet light shot from between them, knocking both away to the floor.

The Fell Dragon stood first as the light dissipated. "That presence does not belong in this timeline!" he growled.

"Fear not, Master Grima. As always, fate has a manner of rectifying itself," explained a female voice to his side. Both parties looked in the direction of the voice to discover a girl, the spitting image of Morgan, yet cloaked in an ebbing amethyst hue, her eyes ruby red.

"Morgan?" Robin blurted in disbelief.

"No, father," Morgan ascertained, regaining her footing, "she is some illusion."

"I am no illusion," the girl retorted, "I, like my father, am a part of you, girl. I embraced the Fell Dragon's power to save my father, and now I serve at his side."

"Then I am pleased to have you," the Fell Dragon smiled, resuming his previous posture. The other Morgan stepped in front of him, arms poised to attack.

"Dammit!" Robin cursed, "Morgan, Chrom, Lucina, we need to flee, now!" The three nodded in accedence and followed Robin out of the grandiose castle.

All watched in horror as the Fell Dragon, now in his true incarnation, burst out of the Dragon's Table. "Grima..." Lucina's eyes and lips shuddered, "It's all over..."

"Not until I say it is!" Chrom commanded through a clenched fist. "Robin, we need to perform the Rite of Awakening on Mount Prism, that I might yet use Naga's power to seal the Fell Dragon!"

"Understood!" Robin collected, "Organize the Shepherds, quickly! We move now!"

Chrom and Lucina sped off. Morgan hung at her father's side. Had her intervention caused this cataclysm? No, it had occurred like this before. But, then, was she altering the course of fate at all? Wait, seal the Fell Dragon? She remembered her father expressing ambiguous regret at letting Chrom do just that. Did he, perhaps, mean the Fell Dragon was to survive? Was that from whence the strange version of her had come? It was possible, but was it the best way to prevent her father's death? To make him a god of suffering and destruction? Morgan's head whirled and reeled constantly with these questions as she joined in the rapid march to Mount Prism.

Morgan felt the same air of bizarre irritation as she hustled through Mount Prism, looking much the same as it did in her future. As the Shepherds did away with a pack of Risen, they followed Chrom into the same cave where Morgan had performed the Rite. Morgan halted her father at the cave's entrance, waiting for the other Shepherds to file in. "Father, you know I came to this time to protect you," she began.

"Of course, honey," Robin agreed anxiously, "and that'll be much easier to achieve if we hurry on in."

"Father... perhaps you are meant to survive only as the Fell Dragon," she took a pleading look upon her eyes.

"Ridiculous," Robin dismissed, "Even if that were the case, I'd not be party to it. My own life is not worth everyone else's."

Morgan grabbed hold of his sleeve, a tear running down her pale cheek, "It is to me."

"Morgan..." Robin breathed, "I appreciate your dedication to your father, but the Fell Dragon must not be permitted to return... no matter the cost."

She followed him slowly into the cave, her heart so heavy as to give her the inclination that she was about to collapse.

"There is, perchance, a power that could fell Grima, however... 'Twould be his own," the Divine Dragon spoke to Chrom, her voice echoing as before.

"The Fell Dragon would need to slay himself?" Frederick clarified.

"Quite so. A thing he would never do of his own volition, as desires only destruction and to add to his powers," replied the Divine Dragon, "Now, hurry. There is little time. Use the fang of the dragon, my power imbued in the blade of the exalts, to return Grima to slumber once more. You must ascend a volcano called Origin Peak, which lies to the west. I will use my power to bring you to Grima from that point."

"Understood," Chrom pivoted to leave, "Shepherds, to arms!"

The Shepherds followed their commander out of the cave in hurried fashion, much as they had entered. Morgan watched the gears turn in her father's head as he remained silent on the march to Origin Peak, wondering if he was considering the same thing as she.


	7. Chapter 7

Twisted Fate, Chapter 7

"Morgan," came a voice at her side. She looked to discover her mother wearing an uncharacteristic expression of concern.

"What is it, mother?" she asked nonchalantly.

"I'm not very good at this, but can we… talk for a bit?" Tharja stammered to her daughter.

"Of course. What's on your mind, mom?" she continued, mostly staring straight ahead.

"Morgan… was I cruel to you in your future or something?" Tharja sighed.

"Why, no. Whatever gave you that impression?" Morgan now turned to her mother in shock.

"It's just… I feel almost as though you care more for your father than you do me," Tharja managed, her eyes carefully sorrowful.

"Not at all," Morgan's eyebrows jumped, "Nothing could be further from the truth. I love you, mother."

"Then what's with all this 'I have to protect _father_ and make sure _father_doesn't die' stuff?" Tharja pressed.

Morgan stared at the ground, "I'm sorry, mother. It was the more immediate concern. You have to know I'd lay down my life to protect you, too."

Tharja took a deep breath, "Maybe you're lying and maybe you aren't. Either way, I want you to know this much, Morgan: I may not be great at expressing it, but, please, know that I love you as much as your father does. I'm so sorry for all you had to endure, and I can only hope your arrival here was as much of a joy for you as it was for me when I discovered that you were my daughter." She stepped back and covered her lips with a clenched fist, holding back tears.

"Mother… I love you, too. Please, believe me!" Morgan wrapped herself around her mother, head pressing into her chest.

"I do, dear. I do," she patted the girl's tousled, raven-black hair and smiled slightly. She saw herself in the uncertain, lachrymose young lady hanging at her waist. Perhaps that was how her husband had known this to be their daughter so quickly. Looking at little Morgan in that position, if any doubt existed in Tharja's mind, it evaporated in a wink.

Morgan broke the hug slowly and wiped a tear from her eye with the sleeve of her cloak. She smiled to her mother and attempted to liven the mood, "Gods, you're soft. No wonder father likes you so much."

Tharja laughed dryly to her daughter, "Yes, believe me, your father has already told me in excruciating detail the features of mine that he 'likes.'"

"I have your genes, mother, and I'm almost old enough to be called a woman now. When do you think I'll…" she cupped her hands over her chest and made an exaggerated outward ballooning motion with them.

Tharja laughed into her palm at her daughter. Even when faced with desperation, the little girl was so energetic and cheery, she made even her mother crack a smile unwillingly. This, however, was a conversation she was not expecting to have. The pair laughed their way back to the camp, Tharja evading having to explain how her figure filled in to her daughter.

Morgan cornered her father at last, calling to him before he could enter his tent for the evening, "Father, sealing the Fell Dragon… Do you think that will allow us to succeed?"

"Whatever do you mean, Morgan?" Robin turned to face his daughter, who was still saddened by the prospect.

"Father," she stepped toward him, eyes, as it seemed they always were, watering, "Do you think me a fool? I know the look on your face when you are thinking about something very carefully. It was in what the Divine Dragon said, wasn't it?"

"Morgan, this is hardly the time to be opining about the words of a spirit—"

"Stop!" she growled, "You can't belie the point, father! I know what you're thinking, because… I thought of it as well."

"Morgan," Robin clenched his fists, scarcely able to meet the indictment of his daughter's stare.

"I… I just want to talk about it, dad," she sniffed, "just give me the satisfaction of knowing we're thinking the same thing."

"You're talking about when Naga told us that Grima could be slain by his own hand, and, knowing what I know now, how I might be able to kill Grima by _my_ hand," he gestured to her. She nodded. "But then, why are you so afraid, dear? I'll be a hero, won't I? Defeating the Fell Dragon and returning to peace alongside you and your mother?" Robin smiled to his daughter.

"You and I both know that's not what will happen," Morgan stepped forward, "Like it or not, the Fell Dragon is a part of you; if you kill it… something is going to happen to you."

Robin's jaw tensed and his face fell, "Morgan, honey, your father will be fine."

"No!" she cried, leaping to him, "I won't allow it! I came back to this time to prevent your dying, I won't be party to letting it happen even sooner!"

Robin sighed, taking his daughter into his arms, running his fingers through her tousled hair as she cried into his sleeve, "Morgan, you've proven yourself a strong girl. Strong enough to live on through death, even without your father…"

"Absolutely not!" she continued to rail, "No! No! No!"

"Damn it, Morgan, listen to your father!" he shook her shoulders. Morgan lifted her head to stare at her father. In all her life, Robin had never raised his voice to her like this. Never had he seemed so… angry. She watched tears slowly creep from his eyes as well, "You don't think I'm scared?! Do you think this is what I want?! You think I wouldn't rather be done with the whole business and go on to live a normal, full life with you and your mother?! Of course I'd rather run like a craven and be with my girls! I ask that this cup pass from me, Morgan, but it will not!" His voice grew hoarse and his eyes barely open as he rasped, "Perhaps a few of us are truly not beyond the reach of fate…"

"No!" she shoved him.

"Morgan-!"

"My father," Morgan tried to mirror his fury, "My father would never speak like that. Never think himself beneath the boot of anyone or anything. Fate most especially! Try though you may to die, I will keep you alive! I came to change this future, damn it!"

"You already have," he lowered her back into his arms, "This time, your father dies a hero and all the world is well and truly at peace. Disaster is not averted; it is removed as a possibility."

"I don't want you to die, father," she sobbed simply, in broken voice, into her father's heavy cloak.

"Neither do I, sweetheart. Neither do I. But this is what's best for the world, what's best for… you," he patted her back softly.

"What's going on back here? I heard screaming. That's usually bad news when I'm not present," Tharja emerged from the shadows.

"Mother," Morgan sighed, drawing herself away from her father, "I'm just… glad to know that we'll be able to take care of this Fell Dragon thing."

"I'm not stupid, kiddo. You're crying. What's wrong?" Tharja tapped her foot.

"I- I'm worried that father might be in danger," she breathed, further distancing herself from her father.

"Don't," she smirked, walking toward her husband and wrapping her arms around him protectively, "I won't let anyone lay a hand on this. Not even himself."

"Right," Morgan nodded.

"You should get some rest, honey. You'll need to be well readied for tomorrow," Robin dismissed his daughter, as his wife's hands wound around his face.

"Yes. You're right," Morgan replied dryly before turning to walk back to her own tent.

"Come on, you. Straight to bed now. We've got a lot of resting to do as well," Tharja whispered into her husband's ear.

"Yes ma'am," Robin smiled walking into the tent with her hanging on his back. As they entered, Tharja released her grip so her husband could remove his cloak and hang it by the tent flap.

"You're going to be awfully warm in that big cotton shirt, too," Tharja tapped on the fabric covering her husband's chest.

"Mayhap you're right," Robin smiled, not wanting to argue with his wife this particular night. He pulled the tan garment over his head and threw it down by the cloak.

"And, now, about these," Tharja giggled, tugging on the belt that held up Robin's pants.

"Hon, much as I'd like to, I really need to be on point for tomorrow," Robin looked away and blushed lightly, putting a hand over the belt.

Tharja stuck out her tongue and frowned, "You always say that. Just indulge me for one night, huh?"

The words hit Robin like a sack full of bricks, "No. You're right. Go ahead, honey. Whatever makes you happy. I'm sorry,"

"Don't be sorry," she scoffed, "That ruins it. You ought to be feeling pretty happy, too, or I'm not doing my job." She resumed her position and set about undoing the belt again, flashing an impetuous grin.

On any other night, Robin would have counted his blessings. What a lucky man he was, he had reminded himself, to have a wife devoted to him to the point of fanaticism. At first, her advances could be frightening or disturbing, but she really was a sweet and caring girl, even if she didn't care for the rest of the Shepherds or anyone, really, to know it. Robin laughed to himself. That was his luck, his special chance. Only he could see to the very core of this mysterious and beautiful woman who he had happened upon amid the greatest tragedy in the recent memory of Ylisse. She was a rose grown on the battlefield, out and away from the dying sprigs of war. A black rose, perhaps, but on the whole, she smelled as sweet. Again, Robin found himself swearing he would not allow the war to slip through his fingers like so many grains of sand. Somehow, he would hold on. Somehow, he would shape a brighter future, one that he, too, could be a part of, but that could also be free of fears of rampaging evil. He would be with his wife, the world would be a better place, and all would turn out well in the end. Believe in it, Morgan, and it may come true. He scoffed a little. He knew how this would turn out, regardless of any well-wishing. Still, he hoped, perhaps, his wife could live on without him, that the world would be unaffected by his absence, and that no one would be made to suffer as his poor daughter had in the future she described. Please, he prayed in silence, please be safe and happy, "Tharja, oh gods!" he exclaimed.

Robin fell over to the side of his wife on the cot, sweating. He sighed in a mixture of catharsis and renewed unease as he rolled over to face the ceiling of the tent and felt his wife's arms press onto his bare chest. He was surprised to hear the gesture accompanied by words, "So, what was Morgan really worried about?"

"Huh?" Robin sniffed sleepily.

"Don't play dumb, what was Morgan's real problem?" Tharja pushed.

Robin's heart wrenched and struggled beneath the question. Should he perpetuate the lie to placate his wife? Certainly, Tharja would do anything and everything to keep Robin, of all people, alive, but that wasn't exactly what he wanted. Would she understand, be able to forgive him if he did lie? He didn't want Morgan to be a lingering reminder of the lie that broke her heart. Tharja was his wife, of course he would tell her. Of course. But should he?

She snapped her fingers, loudly and repeatedly, near his face, "Robin. Hello? What was with Morgan tonight?"

"There's a chance… I won't make it through this bout with Grima," he managed through gritted teeth.

"Because he's also you, is that it?" she stared up at him.

"Yes. I fear that I can destroy him utterly, but only at the cost of my own life," he sighed, shaking his head.

"Is there a particular reason you kept this from me?" she cast an indicting glare, to which Robin succumbed.

"I'm sorry. I love you, Tharja, and you know that, but I fear you'll do something to stop what needs to be done," he breathed, "I'll understand if you're upset with me."

"Naturally, I'd rather you didn't die," she caressed his shoulder, "but I can understand duty. Let me be with you, that we might continue our love into eternity."

"Tharja, no," he shrugged, "I'm required to give my life. I won't have you throwing yours away for no reason. We have a daughter who needs us."

"She made it this far," Tharja huffed.

"She's your own flesh and blood! How can you say that? You'd rather die than care for your own daughter?!"

"Maybe I don't want to have to face the prospect of living alone again! Maybe I don't want to think about how it'll feel to know that I found the absolute perfect man for me, the only man, the only person, I've ever loved more than myself and how I let him die before my eyes! Maybe, just maybe, I don't want to live another fifty years with those thoughts looming over my head! How's that?!" she railed.

Dammit, Robin cursed himself. He never should have brought this up. Better to keep her in blissful ignorance. "Tharja, I'm sorry. I wish there were something else I could do, but I won't have you dying if I can help it," he stared her straight in the eyes.

"Do what you have to do," she sniffed, her eyes hinting just the faintest touch of moisture, "And I'll respond as I must."

"Tharja…"

"If there's even so much as a chance of you making it back to me, you take it, understand?" she grasped his shoulders. He nodded in affirmation.

The day came. No words, only what had to be done. The foes at Origin Peak were defeated; it was time. Naga appeared to the Shepherds at the mouth of the volcano, instructing that she would use her powers to place them atop Grima's back, where they could attack the Fell Dragon's weak point directly. As the Shepherds stood, awaiting her, they were suddenly enveloped by a colossal flash of gold light and, all at once, they landed on the back of the great dragon. Pale, unsettling, sickly brown scales supporting their feet, they made ready to determine the beast's weak point when, after a moment, he made himself distinct. The Robin of the future stood before them, the other Morgan at his side. "And just what do you think you're doing?" he called to them, laughing in a mocking, echoed voice. Before the Shepherds could raise their voices in protest, an array of strange purplish spikes shot from beneath them, jabbing into each and shredding at them, rending holes in their flesh, causing all of them to fall to their knees in anguish. Chrom, Lucina, and a few of the other Shepherds began to despair in fear. Above their cries, Grima called to his other self, "And so it ends, Robin. See how frail these human bonds of yours are? How short-lived? How pointless?" He laughed menacingly, "You have all thrown your lives away, and the result is the same!"

Robin ignored the monstrous version of himself, "No one's dead yet."

"Details, details," the Fell Dragon smirked, "but yes, I suppose it's time I got you all off my back permanently, so to speak."

"No," Robin held fast.

The Fell Dragon mocked sympathy, "No, you don't want this, do you? You know, it doesn't have to be this way, you can save all your little friends; you have a choice. Only become one with me, and I will spare their lives."

"Yes, father," droned the other Morgan, "Save your wife and daughter. Isn't that what's important?"

"Do you think me a fool? You'll kill them anyway! Glad to know you're still weak enough that you need me, though," Robin scoffed at the Fell Dragon's offer.

"Well of _course_ I will," Grima sighed, "I only thought perhaps you'd care to leave them with a heroic and selfless image. But, so be it. I hope you enjoy knowing that their final memory will be knowing that you were their undoing."

From beneath Robin, their came a terrible, sickly and thunderous noise, accompanied by a strange blood red vortex which stormed and surrounded him until it consumed him, sweeping him away from his comrades. Robin regained consciousness in a sea of pitch black, "Where am I?"

"Where your god wills you to be," smiled the Fell Dragon in effigy, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few fleas on my back to be rid of."

"No!" Robin clenched his fists, "I won't let you!"

Grima cast his past self a glare of complete incredulity, "You would dare resist me?! Then perhaps I'll end you first!" A ball of horrifying, shadowy light emerged from his palm and captured Robin, who fell to the ground.

He lay on the strange, omnipresent floor, "So dark… I'm out of ideas… But, I can't lose… I can't… there… there has to be a… way…" He grasped at the nigh intangible ground, trying to pull himself up, to no avail. "Gods… I can't see… can't hear… I can't feel anything…" he gasped, all his senses slowly pervaded by the onset of the darkness.

"- -ve t- -ht –ack!"

Robin's head stirred, "What?"

"Y- -ave to –ight –ack! -fighting!"

"A… Voice?" Robin struggled, his arms propping him up.

"Fight ba-! You –ave –keep fighting! Fight back! You swore you would, didn't you? Now, keep your word!"

Robin lifted himself more, "That sounds like… Tharja. Tharja… Is that you? I can hear you!"

"What? No! You belong to me now!" cried the Fell Dragon, "You cannot break free!"

"No one goes down without my say so," Tharja said, her smirking face discernible even through her tone of voice.

"Father! I only just got you back! I will not lose you now!" Morgan shouted.

The voices of the other Shepherds passed and echoed through Robin's mind. He stood to face his future self, who stepped back in surprise and terror.

"Stop this at once!" whined the Fell Dragon, "Silence those wretched voices! You are all powerless! Frail! Insignificant!"

"Who are you trying to convince, you slippery bastard," Robin stepped forward, "Us? Or you?"

"Robin!"

"Father!"

"Tharja, Morgan," Robin clenched his fists still tighter, "I'm coming."

Robin felt himself lifting; the contemptible, horrifying vortex that had consumed him broke open before his eyes as he stood again. His daughter and wife, eyes glassy, but determined as they stared at him.

"Children of man," soothed Naga's fading voice, "take my power and defeat the Fell Dragon." The Shepherds were doused with a marvelous, sparkling, blue-green light that ended in a rainbow hue, each had his or her wounds healed and returned to their feet.

Chrom and Robin exchanged glances, nodding in tandem at the realization of their task. Together, they called out, "Shepherds! To arms!"

Robin tore off toward the Fell Dragon. He had no final strategy, only an order for himself and for everyone else. He would strike Grima, everyone else was to stand back to deter the Grimleal congregating on the creature and avoid engaging the beast directly, and, most importantly, "Stay alive." Robin was not alone in his rush, however. Neither his wife nor his daughter would have allowed it. They hurried at his sides, slashing apart anyone who dared draw near. The Fell Dragon waited just ahead, eyes full of a mixture of contempt and anxious excitement.

"Hear me, Awakener," Naga's voice descended to the group, "Grima's servants will overwhelm you. You must dispatch with him as quickly as possible. Once the Fell One is weakened, you will be faced with a choice. If Chrom lands the final blow, the Fell Dragon will live, but return to his slumber, but if Robin lands the strike in his stead, both his and Grima's lives will be ended forever. Only in this way may the Fell Dragon be defeated for good and for all."

"So, it's precisely as we feared," Robin smiled sardonically.

Chrom gasped, "Robin, you aren't actually considering…"

"Just so, Chrom," Robin hastened his charge, "Grima! You're mine, got it?! It ends here!"

"You really want to die, hmm?" his wife mused, "I can empathize. Save a little for me, though."

"Father… I will respect your wishes," Morgan managed, not daring to fall even a moment behind him.

"COME THEN," Grima's voice exploded to his past self, "RETURN TO ME. WE ARE ONE AND THE SAME!"

"You and I are nothing alike, you selfish monster!" Robin readied himself, the Fell beast just before him.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, GIRL? KILL THEM!" commanded Grima to the shadowy Morgan who stood at his side.

"Master Grima," she stalled, confused, "I cannot. You are among them."

"IMBECILE! THAT IS NOT ME, ONLY THE FORM I ONCE TOOK! KILL HIM!" Grima railed.

"But…" the shadowy Morgan prevaricated.

"Step aside!" Morgan called to her other self, Robin having already taken to face Grima, Tharja hanging right at his side.

"YOU SEE?! THEY WISH US BOTH DEAD! YOUR FATHER, TOO! AND YOU, LITTLE GIRL," the Fell Dragon addressed the Morgan who stood at Robin's side, "WHY DO YOU STAND PARTY TO YOUR FATHER'S DEATH?! I WAS TOLD YOU TRAVELED THROUGH TIME TO PREVENT THIS OUTCOME."

"The future I seek to rectify ends with my father defeating you today. Your death and his will represent a rebirth for the world! And, I share my father's conviction that if his sacrifice is the only one necessary to prevent the downfall of the world, then so be it!" Morgan cursed the contemptible image of her father. She turned to the red-eyed image of herself, "You! Other Morgan. Do you think this is what your father would have wanted? Eternal life in exchange for that of everyone else's?!"

The girl remained silent a moment. "PAH, BUT YOUR HEROIC SPEECHES MAKE ME ILL. KILL THEM!" Grima swept at the girl by his side, "KILL THEM ALL, NOW!"

"No…" came a whisper from the purple-cloaked Morgan, "No. That's my father over there. I don't know who or what you are, but I don't take orders from you!" she stepped aside, allowing Robin's party access to Grima and, herself, readied her tome to strike at the beast.

"USELESS!" he dismissed, striking down the girl, who cried in agony as she was thrown away.

"That's enough!" Robin charged at the creature, eyes seething with rage. Morgan could see the pale blue covered tome in his hands and knew what was to occur.

Tharja struck the Fell Dragon first, "So, you like darkness, huh? Then, enjoy…!" she gave a wicked cackle as she summoned a ferocious whip of purplish magic from the tome in her hands. The Fell Dragon doubled back. He lashed out in a storm of the same purplish spikes that had brought the Shepherds to their knees before, which traced a path straight to Robin. Morgan hopped in front, deflecting most of the attack with a quick spell, while a few jabbed through her shoulders and thighs, "Not happening!"

"Morgan!" Robin gasped at his bloodied daughter, "Grima! You prey upon weakness; you think that through despair, you may bring men to their knees. You believe that fear of death can keep anyone in check, and with that power, attempt to bring all life to ruin! Well, today, I promise you, I have no fear. You are weak,_you _are insignificant! Today, my daughter and I, we tell your fate and all the gods that man is made of mightier mettle!" Robin unleashed the tome and, after a moment, a burst of spectacular light smashed into the Fell Dragon and brought the figure to his knees. Robin stood over the image of his future self and raised his arms. A ball of violet light emerged from his fingertips.

"WHAT… WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU KNOW WHAT WILL BECOME OF US!"

"Yes, and, in a way, I'm glad we're the same. It means I can end you to protect the ones I love," Robin loosed the ball of light into the Fell Dragon, who shouted and coughed in rage at him, before disappearing in a smoke of violet fumes and sparkling gold light.

Robin stared straight ahead, almost unable to move, as he felt his body becoming numb. "Father!" he heard his daughter exclaim at his side. His wife stood in front of him, evaluating him with stern, serious eyes.

"Morgan," he took the child in his arms as she neared him. "Tharja," he looked back up to his wife. "I want to thank you both… for giving me purpose; a reason to live. May we meet again, in a better life," he smiled before being enveloped in the same strange mist that had consumed the Fell Dragon.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Morgan draped the strap of the bulky, darkly colored bag over her shoulder, taking a few steps out of the way to indicate she was leaving.

"You're certain this is what you want to do? You can't accompany your mother for just a little longer?" Tharja asked, just a few paces behind her daughter.

Morgan looked down to her mother's slightly distended stomach, fully aware of its implication, "Yes. You have a daughter who is really all your own now. You should focus on taking care of her."

"You know I always considered you my daughter, too, Morgan," her mother reassured.

The corners of her mouth creased into a smile, "Yes. I know. But I don't belong in this timeline. Not yet, at least. I might come to visit once in a blue moon, but you need to focus on your daughter in this time. She's the one whose future matters most now."

"Morgan, didn't you tell your father and I once that you had an older sister?" Tharja cast her daughter a quizzical glance.

Morgan stopped, her eyes nearly welling at the mere thought of her lost sister, "I did."

"Then, do you suppose…?" Tharja let the question hang in the air as she put a hand to her stomach.

"Quite possibly," she nodded. She tugged at the bag and lifted it off her shoulder insistently, "I should get going."

Tharja's face told Morgan she had more to say, but she resigned herself, "Fine. Just… just don't die, all right? And maybe stop every once in a while to let your mother know you're okay, got it, kiddo?"

"Yes ma'am," she smiled in a half-salute before heading out. Morgan walked slowly as she took in the rolling sands of her homeland, sans the ravages of war. Curious, she thought, how a terrain so considerably inhospitable could seem beautiful to her eyes. She was walking along her birthplace before she had been born; quite an experience, that. She thought back to her father, but now her mind was confused: did she mean the father who had died in the castle, sending her on this voyage, or the father who had sacrificed himself to bring an end to the Fell Dragon? Much though she wished it otherwise, she was forced to concede that there was no way she could consider them to be the same people; they had mad some rather broad differences in opinion. And yet, Morgan sighed, the version of her father from this timeline had welcomed her with open arms, without provocation or convincing. He had seemingly known her despite never seeing her before. Could it be that he had known he would find her? And what of her father from the ruined future? He, Morgan recalled, at times, seemed to know precisely the sort of questions Morgan would ask and what she would be interested in learning. Until now, Morgan had chalked it up to fortuitous synchronization of like minds among a family, but now… Might there have been something else? Something each saw in her long before she arrived to them? She buried the thought as she carried on, afraid to have melancholy consume her on this journey before it even began. She was determined that she would see the people and sights of the world before they could be destroyed before her eyes again.

She skipped over Ylisse, despite Chrom, Olivia, and even, she nearly retched at the invitation, Lucina's begging her to stay with them in reverence for her father's deeds. She still never provided the Ylisseans with a reason for why she would not join them for a celebration or simple sojourn of any sort, only replying that her "personal interests" would greatly interfere with such a meeting. She cursed herself a bit for holding a grudge against people who hadn't even had the chance to make the mistake for which she held them in contempt, but hatred was an emotion familiar to her, one of the only things familiar to her in this world, so she held on to it.

She stayed a stint in Regna Ferox, graciously accepted by the Khans Basilio and Flavia, who celebrated her father's courageous sacrifice. They were perplexed when Morgan idly remarked that their comments were almost painfully familiar. Nonetheless, she took in the crowded city streets and harsh atmosphere of the land for a few weeks, enjoying some local cuisine and the chance to warm up from the sharp, cold winds in wonderfully cozy fire-heated cabins. She thanked the Khans for their help and hospitality before leaving, reminding Basilio that he had a new lease on life, and should take care not to waste it. He mulled the advice over interestedly as he and his fellow ruler waved the girl off on her boat to Chon'sin.

When she arrived at Chon'sin, she was a trifle bemused to see the harbor looking almost exactly as it had in her own time. Either the people of Chon'sin were slow workers, or their labors at rebuilding proved highly ineffective. Morgan decided to set down at the harbor and try the strange raw fish in rice that she had seen on her first errand to the country. She found that it was called "sushi" and was something of a delicacy in Chon'sin. She was not thrilled with the prospect of consuming raw fish, but discovered that it was, beyond all reasoning, actually quite good. After leaving the harbor, she quickly found a young Say'ri still attempting to establish herself as the dynast in charge of the country. Morgan was surprised when the young dynast recalled her and addressed her as "Morgan-dono," which, she explained to Morgan, was a term of her utmost respect, in part in reverence for her father and part because of the valor she displayed in the fight against Grima. "Dare I say it, milady, I should think you might make for quite a ruler yourself," she added. Morgan thanked the young woman for her kind words and reminded her that she had a job before her from which she could not rest until it was finished. Say'ri concurred, and Morgan moved on.

Where would she go now? She stood on a dock just off the small harbor, staring out over the sea. She might head west to explore the rest of Valm, but what did that offer her? There were a few sights more in the interest of treasure hunters, but she had already visited those in her march with the Shepherds. She certainly couldn't bring herself to return to Plegia yet; it had only been a few months since she'd left. What a life this was, she shook her head sardonically, a future saved only to be spent staying as far away from loved ones as possible. She retired to her rented room for the evening with the thought irrepressibly lodged in her mind. When she awoke the next morning, she elected to take a walk through the misty fall air and stand along the rolling hills of the Chon'sin countryside as the sun rose.

As she stood and watched day break, there came a small, uncertain voice at her side, one she recognized, but could not place: "Hail, Morgan. Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?"

Morgan's mind raced as she turned around. There, before her, stood the very image of her contempt: Lucina, the royal of House Ylisse, who had ordered her father's execution in her own time. Here she stood, asking Morgan for a chat. "Lucina. What brings you here?" Morgan managed, stifling the urge to draw her sword.

"I came in pursuit of you for a few reasons, the first of which is, why do you continue to refuse invitations to meet us all in Ylisstol? And why can I remember all of the other children who arrived from the future except for you?" the blue haired royal commanded.

Morgan sighed deeply. There was no sense in pretense now, she supposed, now that her father had already passed, what more could this selfish, silver-spoon-graced girl do to her? "Because, I'm not from your future," she declared.

Lucina raised and eyebrow and put her hand to her chin, "But, then, how? I was able to return to the past thanks to the power of and sacred covenant my family holds with Naga."

Morgan almost wanted to smile as she lowered her shoulder out of her prized cloak to show Lucina the Mark that had cursed her to her fate, "And, by a twist of fate, I had Grima, my father, to do the same."

Lucina examined Morgan's shoulder quizzically for a moment, "I see. But why are you showing me your bare shoulder?"

"Bare?" Morgan looked down to discover that it was true. The strange Mark that had condemned her among Ylisseans all her life had, all at once, disappeared from her body entirely. "I used to have a Mark there, like the Brand in your eye," she remarked simply, covering herself again.

Lucina nodded in affirmation, "But, then, I still must ask why it is you are so obstinate toward House Ylisse. What happened in your future?"

Morgan took a deep breath, "In short, several years after Grima was sealed, you determined that my father would be the death of the world and bid your own father execute him, as well as my mother, my sister, and I. I narrowly escaped with my life due to… a lapse in your father's judgment."

Lucina cupped a hand over her mouth, "That can't possibly be true!"

"And why would I lie?" growled Morgan, "I'm not ashamed to say that after that, in my own future, I killed you and your father. Killed you with contempt, with fury. And I would do it again."

Lucina evaluated the raven-haired girl's response, "I'm… sorry. I know that consolation means nothing to you, but I do apologize. I don't know what my future self was thinking, but that was an act both despicable and reprehensible."

"Hmph," Morgan grunted. Somehow, it felt satisfying to hear the words escape from those royal lips. "What other business did you have?" she asked after a moment.

"I was told your father… might still be alive," Lucina looked to the girl earnestly.

"That can't be…" Morgan stammered. She remained wary; Lucina could still be leading her into a trap.

"I can't say for certain, but witnesses have described a mysterious figure in Southtown who fits his description," Lucina recounted.

Southtown, thought Morgan, of course. A little village at the southern border of Ylisse, none too far from the capital. Who would notice if a little girl were to suddenly "disappear" within its walls? "Terribly sorry, but why should I believe you?" Morgan huffed.

Lucina was visibly irritated by the insinuation, "Morgan, honestly! I apologize for what the version of me in your future did, but there isn't anything I can do to change that now. I'm just trying to reunite a lost girl with her father, like I wanted as soon as I returned to this timeline."

Morgan considered and evaluated the Ylissean for a moment before at last dropping her guard, "All right. Am I to return with you?"

"That was the plan," Lucina nodded.

"Fine, then. But I'm not taking my eyes off of you," allowed Morgan. She followed as Lucina began to walk back toward the harbor.

The trip took only a few days. Morgan enjoyed the feel of the seas as they coasted along, but it was clear Lucina did not share her contentment. The young lord had retired to the lower decks for most of the voyage, while Morgan waited, arms resting on the bow of the ship, ever ready to meet whatever waited at the shore for her.

At one point, Lucina emerged from within the ship, pale green overtaking her face. Nonetheless, she approached Morgan, "Morgan, might we speak a moment?" The raven-haired girl shrugged. "I want to try to make things better, Morgan," pleaded Lucina.

"Why? What's done is done. I'm not like to forget it soon," spat Morgan, still staring straight ahead.

"That's it precisely," Lucina begged, "the sooner you can come to forgive me, the sooner you'll be able to be… happy again."

"Clearly I'm not meant to be happy," Morgan scoffed, "else my father would still be alive. Twice over."

"You can't think like that," Lucina extended a hand to the girl's shoulder.

She promptly whipped away from it and kicked in Lucina's direction, though she dodged the strike, "Don't put your hands on me."

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "Just… tell me what I can do to make this right for you," Lucina stamped her foot.

"Go back below decks, where you're out of my sight, and try to stay out of my sight for as long as you can," Morgan resumed her position at the bow.

"I wish you'd at least try. I'm not even the one you need to be angry with; she's dead, as you told me. You've got nowhere left to pin your anger but me, and you know it," Lucina deduced.

A wild fury caught Morgan's eye as she turned curtly to the young lord, "If you're looking to make a corpse of yourself, you're making some decent headway."

Lucina froze. Being around Tharja for some time allowed her to very easily see her daughter shared one of the more frightening stares her mother had once shown Lucina, the occasion being after word of her threatening Robin had reached camp. She turned quickly to begin walking back to the lower decks, "Fine. Forget it. I give up."

The two continued to avoid one another until the ship finally reached port in Ylisse a few days later, only a few miles from Southtown, Lucina had assured. As Morgan stepped off the ship, she found Lucina waiting for her again. "Will you at least promise to be respectful of my father?" she pleaded, grabbing for Morgan's hand as she descended.

Morgan accepted the hand, "At least your father still deserved some of my respect. He refused to kill any children, unlike you."

"So, is that a 'yes?'" Lucina demanded irritably.

"Yeah," spat Morgan, letting the hand go and pressing onward. The two girls, gems of bygone eras, heroes in worlds that no longer existed, set off into the great plains of Ylisse by themselves, silently keeping stride with one another in a soft march to Southtown. It was when they reached the pale, beige streets of Southtown, adorned by luscious teal waters that sparkled in the day light, that they met with Lucina's father, the _other_ cobalt-haired center of Morgan's ire. Still, she meant what she had said, and waited silently as the new Exalt drew near her and his own daughter.

"Morgan. At long last," he sighed congenially, meeting her eyes at close range.

"Exalt Chrom," she droned, not moving.

"It's customary to bow your head outside of war," Lucina coughed.

"I don't bow," she sneered.

"It's fine, Lucina. You know how I don't care for formality, at any rate," Chrom placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder. He looked back to Morgan and did his best to look hopefully optimistic, "Has Lucina told you? We think we might have found your father."

"That's why I'm here," Morgan tapped her foot, folding her arms together.

"Of course," Chrom remarked simply, "Come along, we'll take you to where the villagers have reported seeing him."

Morgan nodded and began to walk slowly behind the newly exalted Ylissean, his daughter also in tow, not above keeping a sharp eye on Morgan while she stood at Chrom's back. They walked for at least an hour or two along the rolling green hills that extended out of Southtown in every direction before finally coming to a small clearing. At once, Morgan saw exactly what the villagers had reported. There he was, that pile of blue-black fabric was her father. Her mind silenced itself for a moment as she rushed down the hill to him, leaving Chrom and Lucina in her dust as she slid and dashed over to the spot. Then she stopped. She had already left her mother and unborn sister. Would she burden her father, too, with the knowledge that she was alive but out of his reach? Maybe she just wouldn't leave… No, that had been decided. She couldn't allow herself to interfere with the raising of either her or her sister. No, Morgan resolved, unable to prevent tears from pooling in her eyes, her task was completed. The knowledge that her father was alive was enough for her. He would forget about her as time passed on.

"Morgan! Something the matter?" Chrom waved a hand in front of her face. He had descended the hill and Lucina was still close behind.

She nearly choked trying to swallow her emotions as she prepared to speak with Chrom, "I… I have to leave."

Chrom's eyes shot wide, "What?! Not wanting to see us in Ylisse I can understand. I'm sure you have your reasons, but you love your father more than anything in the entire world! I've seen as much before my own eyes! How can you possibly want to leave now?!"

"Because of what you just said," Morgan's fists tightened as she pivoted away from her father's body, "I love him more than anything, and I don't want to get in the way of his loving… me. The me in this time."

Chrom shook his head, bewildered, "Are you absolutely certain? I know for a fact he'd love to have stay with him and your mother."

"I know. And that's why I have to go. Morgan has a bright future ahead of her now. I'll not see it wasted again," Morgan continued, not daring to look back.

"Will you tell me this much, Morgan?" Chrom took a step toward her, "Why did you refuse to ever meet with me?"

"The future I was trying to subvert was one wherein you murdered my father and mother," Morgan announced simply.

Chrom's eyebrows knitted in concern, "Truly? Morgan… I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry…"

"There's nothing left to say, Ylissean. Just promise me you'll never repeat that mistake," Morgan lifted her feet to begin walking away. They felt like lead.

"On my honor as exalt," Chrom placed a hand over his chest to indicate his sincerity.

"Good. And if you do, don't think I won't come after you," she barked, stepping still further away.

Chrom nodded without responding as the young woman plodded heavily away. He bid his daughter rouse Robin from his place on the ground. He awoke almost immediately, rising slowly and looking bewildered to Chrom. After regaining his wits, Robin asked about his wife's whereabouts and prepared to leave for her. Before leaving the Ylisseans, he also asked Chrom whether his daughter was at home with Tharja. Chrom closed his eyes, barely able to utter the words, and told his best friend that his daughter wanted to be away from him. For his sake, Chrom mentioned, as Morgan had told him. Robin took the news unhappily, of course, but he knew his daughter. She was strong, resilient, and able to make the best of any situation. She had done this for a reason, and Robin wouldn't fight her on it. He wished her only the best in a silent prayer as he began to head home.

Morgan spent the remainder of her days wandering the world, searching for something new to distract her from thoughts of her parents. Every now and again she would receive news about them. They had taken up the Plegian throne again within a year of the birth of their first daughter, who they named Noire. Not more than a year later, they had a second daughter, whose name was no shock to anyone. Morgan waited until the year of her father's assassination and, when it became clear that she really had averted her disastrous future, she breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in a long time. Her search for news about her parents and their new family dropped off sharply after that date. She still smiled to hear tell of the raven-haired heiress of the Plegian throne, and how her charmingly determined cheerfulness brought light and warmth into the heart of her family as they lived on into a ripe old age together.


End file.
